‘He means faucet,’ said Judy, presumably forgetting we came from the same country as Isaac.

Isaac and I went down the stairs to the basement. I was confident I could help with the tap problem. My school holidays had been spent providing advice of exactly this kind. But as we reached the bottom of the stairs, the lights went out. I wasn’t sure what had happened. A power failure?

‘You okay, Don?’ said Isaac, sounding concerned.

‘I’m okay,’ I said. ‘What happened?’

‘What happened is that you answered to Don, Austin.’

We stood there in the dark. I doubted that there were social conventions for dealing with interrogation by a psychiatrist in a dark cellar.

‘How did you know?’ I asked.

‘Two unsolicited communications from the same university in a month. An internet search. You make good dancing partners.’

More silence and darkness.

‘I know the answer to your question. But I made a promise that I would not reveal it. If I thought it was a matter of life or death, or a serious mental health issue, I would reconsider. But I see no reason to break the promise, which was made because the people involved had thought hard about what would be right. You came a long way for my DNA, and I’m guessing you got it when you cleared the plates. You might want to think beyond your girlfriend’s wishes before you proceed.’

He turned on the light.

Something bothered me as we walked up the stairs. At the top, I stopped. ‘If you knew what I wanted, why did you let us come to your house?’

‘Good question,’ he said. ‘Since you asked the question, I’m sure you can work out the answer. I wanted to see Rosie.’

24

Thanks to carefully timed use of sleeping pills, I woke without any feeling of disorientation, at 7.06 a.m.

Rosie had fallen asleep in the train on the way to the hotel. I had decided not to tell her immediately about the basement encounter, nor mention what I had observed on the sideboard. It was a large photo of Judy and Isaac’s wedding. Standing beside Isaac, dressed in the formal clothes required of a best man, was Geoffrey Case, who had only three hundred and seventy days to live. He was smiling.

I was still processing the implications myself, and Rosie would probably have an emotional response that could spoil the New York experience. She was impressed that I had collected the DNA, and even more impressed that I had acted so unobtrusively when I picked up the dishes to assist.

‘You’re in danger of learning some social skills.’

The hotel was perfectly comfortable. After we checked in, Rosie said she had been worried that I would expect her to share a room in exchange for paying for her trip to New York. Like a prostitute! I was highly insulted. She seemed pleased with my reaction.

I had an excellent workout at the hotel gym, and returned to find the message light blinking. Rosie.

‘Where were you?’ she said.

‘In the gym. Exercise is critical in reducing the effects of jet lag. Also sunlight. I’ve planned to walk twenty-nine blocks in sunlight.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Today is my day. And tomorrow. I own you until midnight Monday. Now get your butt down here. I’m hanging out for breakfast.’

‘In my gym clothes?’

‘No, Don, not in your gym clothes. Shower, dress. You have ten minutes.’

‘I always have my breakfast before I shower.’

‘How old are you?’ said Rosie, aggressively. She didn’t wait for the answer. ‘You’re like an old man – I always have my breakfast before I shower, don’t sit in my chair, that’s where I sit … Do not fuck with me, Don Tillman.’ She said the last words quite slowly. I decided it was best not to fuck with her. By midnight tomorrow it would be over. In the interim, I would adopt the dentist mindset.

It seemed I was in for a root-canal filling. I arrived downstairs and Rosie was immediately critical.

‘How long have you had that shirt?’

‘Fourteen years,’ I said. ‘It dries very quickly. Perfect for travelling.’ In fact it was a specialised walking shirt, though fabric technology had progressed significantly since it was made.

‘Good,’ said Rosie. ‘It doesn’t owe you anything. Upstairs. Other shirt.’

‘It’s wet.’

‘I mean Claudia’s shirt. And the jeans while you’re at it. I’m not walking around New York with a bum.’

When I came down for the second attempt at breakfast, Rosie smiled. ‘You know, you’re not such a bad-looking guy underneath.’ She stopped and looked at me. ‘Don, you’re not enjoying this, are you? You’d rather be by yourself in the museum, right?’ She was extremely perceptive. ‘I get that. But you’ve done all these things for me, you’ve brought me to New York, and, by the way, I haven’t finished spending your money yet. So I want to do something for you.’

I could have argued that her wanting to do something for me meant she was ultimately acting in her own interests, but it might provoke more of the ‘don’t fuck with me’ behaviour.

‘You’re in a different place, you’re in different clothes. When the medieval pilgrims used to arrive at Santiago after walking hundreds of kilometres they burned their clothes to symbolise that they’d changed. I’m not asking you to burn your clothes – yet. Put them on again on Tuesday. Just be open to something different. Let me show you my world for a couple of days. Starting with breakfast. We’re in the city with the best breakfasts in the world.’