The cinema queue dwindled. The programme, she guessed, must have already begun. But there'd be the news-films first, and then, say, Mickey Mouse. Maybe it was silly, standing here. She might have missed Kay already. All that mucking about with Fraser! She tapped her foot. Perhaps she should cross over, buy a ticket, go inside; go up and down the aisles; or find a spot where she could watch the latecomers, more closely, as they came in-

But then, she thought suddenly, what was the point? Was it really likely that Kay would come back here? She might have come just that one time, for that one film. She could be anywhere in London! What were Viv's chances of seeing her, really?

The queue had shrunk to nothing now. A group of boys and girls came hurrying up to the doors, and that was it. Viv put her hand again to her pocket, feeling the ring in its bit of cloth-turning it over and over with her fingers-knowing it was stupid to keep waiting, but not wanting to leave, unable just to give it up, go home-

Then a man's voice sounded, close beside her.

'Still looking for nobody, I suppose?'

She jumped. It was Fraser.

'God!' she said. 'What do you want, now?'

He put up his hands. 'I don't want anything! I've been sitting where you left me-in Trafalgar Square, watching the pigeons. Awfully soothing on a bloke's nerves, those pigeons. I found myself quite losing track of time. Then I thought I'd be like Burlington Bertie, and walk down the Strand… I didn't expect to find you still here, honestly. And I can see by your face just how welcome I am. Don't worry, you'll find I'm quite the gentleman in matters like this. I won't hang about, and spoil your chances with the other bloke.'

She was looking over his shoulder, still scanning the faces of passers-by. Then she took in what he'd said-and the contrast between what he was thinking and the real reason she was here seemed, all at once, to defeat her. She lowered her head and said, 'It doesn't matter, anyway. The person's not coming.'

'Not coming? How do you know?'

'I just do,' she said bitterly. 'It was stupid, my waiting here at all-'

She couldn't finish. She turned away. He put out his hand, just touched her arm. 'Look here,' he said quietly, seriously. 'I'm sorry.'

She drew in her breath. 'I'm all right.'

'You don't look all right. Let me take you in somewhere, get you a drink-'

'You mustn't trouble.'

'It's no trouble.'

'You must have somewhere to be, don't you?'

He looked rueful. 'Well, as it happens, I said I'd look in on your brother, at Mr Mundy's… He won't mind waiting an extra hour though, I'm sure. Come on.'

He drew at her arm. She'd gone back to looking up and down the street; she couldn't help it. But she let him lead her along the pavement. He said, 'There's a pub just up there-'

She shook her head. 'Not a pub.'

'Not a pub, all right. A café? Here's one, look, with a window on the street. We'll go in here. And then, if your friend turns up after all…'

They went into the café and found a table near the door. He ordered coffees, a plate of cakes. And when, after a few minutes, another table became free, right next to the window, he moved her to that.

The café was busy. The door kept opening and closing as people passed in and out. From behind the counter there came the regular clatter of crockery, the hiss of steam. Viv kept her head turned to the street. Fraser sometimes looked with her; more often, though, he kept his gaze on her face. He said once, to try and make her laugh, 'I've changed my mind about you. I don't think you work in a leg-show at all. I think you're a private detective. Am I close to the mark?'

She let her coffee sit in front of her and grow cool. The cakes arrived-nasty-looking things, the colour of luminous paint in daylight, each with a swirl of artificial cream on top, already turning back to water. She wasn't hungry. She still kept seeing, from the corner of her eye, people she thought might be Kay. She almost forgot about Fraser; she was vaguely aware that he'd fallen silent, that was all… But after another few minutes he spoke again; and his voice, this time, was quite flat.

He said, 'You know, I hope he's worth it.'

She looked at him, not understanding. 'Who?'

'This guy you're waiting for. From where I'm sitting, to tell you the truth, it rather looks as though he isn't. Since he's put you to all this trouble-'

'You think it's a he, of course,' she said, turning back to the window. 'It's like a man, to think that.'

'Well, isn't it a he?'

'No. If you must know, it's a woman.'

He didn't believe her at first. But she could see him, thinking it over. And then he leaned back, nodding, and his expression changed. 'Ah,' he said. 'I see. The wife.'

He said it in such a cynical, knowing sort of way; and his comment was so far from the truth-yet in another way, so near it-that she felt stung. She wondered what Duncan might have told him, about her and Reggie. Her face grew warm. She said, 'It's not- It's not what you're thinking.'

He spread his hands. 'I told you before, I'm a broad-minded bloke.'

'But, it's nothing like that. It's just-'

His eyes were on her. They were blue, still rather knowing but, apart from that, quite guileless; and as she gazed into them it struck her that he was the first person, in what must have been years and years, to whom she'd spoken for more than about a minute without telling some sort of lie… When the café door opened and a couple of boys came in and started joking with the man behind the counter, she said quietly, under cover of their laughter, 'I saw someone here. I saw someone here, the week before last; and I've been hoping to see her again. That's all it is.'

He could tell she was serious. He moved closer to the table again and said, 'A friend?'

She looked down. 'Just a woman. A woman I knew once, when the war was on.'

'And you made an arrangement with her, for tonight?'

'No. I just saw her there, outside the cinema. I've been back, and waited, on different nights. I thought, if I did that-' She grew self-conscious. 'It sounds barmy, doesn't it? I know it does. It is barmy. But, you see, when I saw her here, before, I sort of-ran away. Then I wished I hadn't. She was kind to me once. She was terribly kind. She did something for me…'

'You lost touch with her?' Fraser asked, in the little silence which followed. 'That happened all the time in wartime.'

'It wasn't that. I could have found out where she was if I'd wanted to; it would have been easy. But what she'd done for me, you see, made me think of something else, that I didn't want to remember…' She shook her head. 'It's stupid really, because of course I remembered it anyway.'

He didn't press her to tell him more. They sat with the silly-looking cakes between them; he stirred the remains of his cooling coffe as if thinking over her words. Then he said, still rather musingly, 'Wartime is a time of kindness. We all tend to forget. I've worked with people in the past few months, people who've come here from Germany and Poland. Their stories- God! They told me terrible things, atrocious things; things I couldn't believe an ordinary man, in ordinary clothes, in the world I knew, could be telling me… But they told me marvellous things, too. The courage of people, the impossible goodness. I think it was having heard stories like that that made me, when I saw your brother again- I don't know. But he was kind to me, in prison; I can tell you that. Just as it sounds like your friend, this woman, was kind to you.'

Viv said, 'She wasn't even a friend, really. We were strangers.'

'Well, sometimes it's easier to be kinder to strangers than to the people we're closest to… She might have forgotten you, though-have you thought of that? Or she might not want to be reminded. Are you even sure it's her?'