‘No. But I know it, I know what I do, and that’s why I shall beat it.’

Anna heard the dull flap, flap, as the lids of her notebooks closed. She heard the young, cheerful, shrewd voice: ‘What have you been trying to do? Cage the truth? Verity and so forth?’

‘Something like that. But it’s no good.’

‘No good either, to let that vulture guilt get at you, no good at all.’ Anna laughed. He began to sing, in a sort of pop-song:

The vulture guilt,
Feeds on you and me,
Don’t let that old vulture guilt get you,
Don’t let him be …

He went to her record-player, examined her records, put on Brubeck. He said: ‘Home from home. I left the States all hot for new experience, but everywhere I find the music I left behind me.’ He sat, a solemn cheerful owl in his spectacles, jerking his shoulders and pursing his lips to the jazz. ‘There is no doubt,’ he said, ‘it gives one a sense of continuity, yes, that’s the word, a definite sense of continuity, moving from city to city to the same music, and behind every door, a nut like oneself.’

‘I’m only temporarily a nut,’ said Anna.

‘Oh yes. But you’ve been there. That’s enough.’ He came to the bed, took off his dressing-gown, got into it, like a brother, friendly and casual.

‘Aren’t you interested to know why I’m in such bad shape?’ he asked after a pause.

‘No.’

‘I’m going to tell you anyway. I can’t sleep with women I like.’

‘Banal,’ said Anna.

‘Oh I agree. Banal to the point of tautology and tedium.’

‘And rather sad for me.’

‘Sad for me too, surely?’

‘Do you know how I feel now?’

‘Yes. Believe me, Anna, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m not a square.’ A pause. He said: ‘You were thinking: And how about me?’

‘Oddly enough, yes.’

‘Want me to screw you? I could, at that.’

‘No.’

‘No, I thought you wouldn’t and you’re right.’

‘All the same.’

‘How’d you like it, being me? The woman I like best in the world is my wife. The last time I screwed her was on our honeymoon. After that, the curtain came down. Three years later, she got sore and said Enough. Do you blame her? Do I? But she likes me better than anyone in the world. The last three nights I spent with your friend’s friend Betty. I don’t like her, but I do like a certain little wriggle of her ass.’