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of music, which Ben had marked with his complicated system of arrows and scribbles. On top of the music lay Fritz’s weights, hundreds of dirty mugs (the only visible crockery), and parts of a bicycle. The overflowing bin was surrounded by squashed lager cans and crumpled takeaway cartons.
    And on the sofa, among the festoons of sheet music, Fritz reclined stark naked.
    â€œGood God,” he said. He whipped a cushion over his privates and burst out laughing. “My darling Grimble—forgive me if I don’t get up. Mum, have you gone mad?”
    â€œI’ll fetch you a dressing gown,” Phoebe said, shaking with laughter. “Honor, I’m so sorry—I should have warned them. Fritz, this is Cassie’s friend Honor Chappell.”
    â€œHow do you do, Honor,” Fritz said. “I’m so sorry about this. I expect I know you, don’t I?”
    â€œI was Cassie’s flatmate at Oxford,” Honor said stiffly.

    â€œOh God, yes, of course. Sorry. How are you?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œMum, for pity’s sake, find something to cover my blushes.”
    Phoebe, helpless with giggles, vanished into Fritz’s bedroom. The giggles ended suddenly, on a gasp of horror.
    â€œIt’s not awfully tidy at the moment,” Fritz explained, smiling at Honor in a friendly way. “Look, I really am very sorry about this.” He made a minute adjustment to the cushion. “The fact is, we totally ran out of clean clothes. Don’t you hate it when that happens?”
    Honor, obviously embarrassed, fixed her angry gaze on the floor.
    I looked at Fritz. How could Honor not look at Fritz? His body, as befitted someone who spent several hours every day running on the Heath, was taut and muscular. He had a gorgeous washboard stomach and (it had just been possible to see, before the descent of the cushion) a huge cock. He was incredible, and of course I fancied him. But it meant nothing, I told myself—mere chemistry because Fritz was pumping out pheromones right under my nose. Pull yourself together.
    â€œFritz, really!” Phoebe said, stepping back into the room with a black toweling robe over one arm. “I’ve never seen such a mess. You can’t expect Mrs. Wong to clean down here unless you tidy it first.” She threw the robe across Fritz.
    â€œThat’s mine!” complained Ben.
    â€œIt was the only thing I could find.”
    Fritz leaped up from the sofa and extinguished his splendid body under the robe. He rummaged through the washing basket, impatiently throwing aside unwanted socks and shirts.
    â€œDon’t just chuck it all on the floor!” Ben protested.
    â€œI’m in a tearing hurry, dear boy. Madeleine expected me an hour ago.”
    â€œWell, you should do the washing when it’s your fucking turn, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who let it all pile up.”
    â€œBoys!” Phoebe protested. “For goodness’ sake, stop squabbling. What will Honor think?”
    One glance was enough to show me what Honor thought. Her pale mouth was tight with disapproval.
    â€œPhoebe,” I said, “we really ought to go. I don’t want to keep Matthew waiting.”

    Phoebe had not registered Honor’s sudden and drastic freezing over. She touched Ben’s arm. “Can’t you change your mind about dinner?”
    â€œI’m not eating dinner at the moment,” Ben said solemnly. “I’m detoxing.”
    Phoebe was mildly alarmed. Ben’s delicate stomach was an historic cause of worry. “It’s never healthy to miss dinner, darling.”
    â€œVinnie says I need to clear my system,” he said. “I have to eat raw vegetables for ten days, and I’ve still got six days to go.”
    Ben was a hypochondriac. While Fritz went on his daily runs to Highgate and back, Ben fought a succession of mysterious illnesses. I suspected that Mrs. Appleton had won him