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blue-tracksuited Pidpaly who came to the door, and he was barefoot.
    “All for me?” he asked, delightedly examining Viktor’s edible gifts. “You really shouldn’t have.”
    At the bottom of the bag, under all the purchases, was the penguinologist’s file, which Viktor handed back with thanks.
    “Any use to you?”
    “A great help.”
    “Sit down. I’ll make some tea,” said Pidpaly, bustling about.
    It turned out to be green. Pidpaly passed it to him in a bowl, setting down a little box of chipped sugar of heaven alone knew what provenance, such as Viktor had seen only in old films.
    Snapping off a piece, he washed it down with the tea, and took a sly look at the little box.
    “Doesn’t spoil, you see,” said Pidpaly, following the direction of his gaze. “Ages back I bought three loaves, and I’ve still got some … Time was, there was more shape, more taste to things. Remember Capital Meat Loaf?”
    Viktor shook his head.
    “Missed out on the time of abundance, you have,” said the old man regretfully. “Every century there’s five years of abundance, after which everything goes to pot … You won’t see the next five, I’m afraid – I certainly won’t. But I did at least come in for one lot. How’s the penguin?”
    “Fine,” said Viktor. “You remember you mentioned penguin psychology.”
    “I do indeed.”
    “Just how much do they understand?”
    “They’re quick to distinguish mood – in people and other animals, of course. Apart from that, they’re very unforgiving. They’ve also a good memory for anything good. But their psychology, you understand, is far more complex than, say, a dog or a cat’s. They’re more intelligent, more secretive; capable of concealing feelings and affections.”
    Having drunk his tea, Viktor jotted down his telephone number on a piece of paper.
    “If you want anything, ring,” he said, handing it to the penguinologist.
    “Thank you, thank you. And you ring, too, and come and see me.”
    As the old man got up, Viktor again noticed that his feet were bare.
    “Won’t you catch cold?” he asked.
    “No,” Pidpaly assured him. “I do yoga. I’ve a book with photographs – all Indian yogis go barefoot.”
    “Only because India has no winter, and shoes are expensive,” Viktor said, letting himself out. “Goodbye.”
    “Happy New Year!” called Pidpaly after his departing visitor.

30
    Waking very early a few days before New Year, Viktor noticed three large brightly wrapped parcels under the tree in the living room. He looked in at Sonya. She was still asleep.
    Who had put them there? Sonya or Grandfather Frost?
    He washed, went to the kitchen, and there on the table was an envelope.
    This, on top of an uneasy night’s sleep, was the limit.
    He remembered dreaming he had been hiding from someone at dead of night in a strange flat, listening tensely to a silence occasionally broken by faint footsteps and the squeaking of doors. The envelope was sealed. He cut off one end with scissors, and clearly written in block-capitals, read:
    HAPPY NEW YEAR! MY THANKS FOR SONYA. HER PRESENTS AND YOURS ARE UNDER THE TREE. NAMESAKE’S PRESENT IS IN THE FREEZER. HOPING NEW YEAR WILL BRING YOU SOME RELIEF. SORRY I CAN’T POP IN …
    TILL THEN – MISHA .
    Viktor looked around, bewildered, as if expecting to see who had brought it.
    He went and tried the door. It was, as usual, double-locked on the inside.
    Shrugging, he returned to the kitchen. What had occurred was as inexplicable as it was blatant, and left him totally perplexed. His locks no longer protected him, whether sleeping or awake, and in case of danger would be useless.
    He was not so much alarmed as amazed.
    Outside, cottony snow was gliding down at an angle to the wind.

31
    When Sonya woke, she was delighted to find presents under the tree.
    “You see!” she said. “Grandfather Frost! He could come again.”
    Viktor gave a knowing smile.
    After breakfast Sonya wanted to open her presents,