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me as the type who would be easily given to running round on half-baked schemes of the sort favoured by Steve. Nonetheless, the two of them seemed to get on very well together, so I didn’t question their friendship.
    As they sat there at the table, with Steve already beginning to drum his fingers, I wondered what they’d come over for. Neither of them owed me anything, nor I them, and as far as I knew they weren’t in the habit of making calls just for the sake of saying hello. That was much more in Simon Painter’s line than theirs. The only other motive I could think of for the visit was that they wanted some sort of favour. I decided, therefore, that the best course of action was to make breakfast, and let them choose their moment.
    ‘House is looking good,’ remarked Philip, as he peered around the interior.
    ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I try to keep it ship-shape.’
    ‘Hmm hmm,’ he murmured.
    ‘Probably be giving it a good spring-clean once this wind’s dropped.’
    ‘Hmm.’
    He wasn’t the most talkative of people.
    ‘How’s your place these days?’ I asked.
    ‘Same as ever,’ he answered.
    ‘Tell him about your new weathercock,’ suggested Steve.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Philip. ‘I’ve got a new weathercock.’
    For a second I thought he might expand on the subject, but instead he merely fell silent. Meanwhile his companion continued drumming on the table top. A violent gust of wind made the whole house creak, which in turn caused both of them instantly to glance towards the stairway. Then they looked expectantly in my direction, and I realized all at once why they’d come.
    ‘Everything alright?’ I asked, smiling.
    ‘Yes, yes,’ replied Steve. ‘Fine.’
    ‘OK then,’ I said. ‘I’ll start breakfast. Make yourselves at home.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    The preparations took about twenty minutes, during which time soft footsteps could be heard moving around on the upper floor. However, I gave no sign of having noticed them.
    When breakfast was almost ready I said, quite casually, ‘Would one of you mind laying the table?’
    ‘I’ll do it,’ said Steve, practically leaping to his feet.
    He went and got some cutlery out of the drawer, and there then followed a long pause.
    ‘How many places shall I set?’ he asked at length.
    ‘Three of course,’ I replied. ‘Why?’
    ‘Is there no one else joining us then?’
    ‘Don’t know,’ I said.
    ‘Oh … er, right.’
    ‘I suppose you could lay an extra one if you want to, though, just in case.’
    ‘OK then.’
    He busied himself around the table and finished laying it in seconds. Then I served up breakfast and the three of us began to eat.
    ‘You never can tell,’ I remarked, nodding towards the empty place. ‘Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.’
    As I finished the sentence I noticed that my two guests’ eyes had suddenly swivelled towards the stairs, and next thing Mary Petrie had come down.
    ‘Aha,’ I said. ‘Here’s a nice surprise.’
    Without saying a word she passed behind my seat and slapped me hard on the back of the head. Then, in the stunned silence that followed, she poured herself a coffee and went back upstairs.
    ‘Friend of yours?’ asked Steve, keeping his voice low.
    ‘Yes,’ I replied, equally quietly. ‘She’s been here a few months now.’
    That’s what we heard.’
    ‘From Simon Painter?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Does she do that often?’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘First time.’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t stand for it.’
    ‘Wouldn’t you?’
    ‘No, I certainly would not.’
    ‘Nor me,’ said Philip.
    I looked at these two men sitting at my table: these two men who’d each spent the last few years living alone in a house of tin, and I realized that they knew even less about women than I did.
    ‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Help yourselves to more coffee, and I’ll go up and sort this out.’
    ‘Alright,’ answered Steve. ‘But take care.’
    When I got upstairs Mary Petrie was sitting on