territory for me. He says he fears this has all come as a surprise to us. I assure him that with Steff nothing surprises us, and he seems relieved. I ask him, why Panama? He explains that he is a graduate zoologist and the Smithsonian has invited him to conduct a field study of large flying bats on the island of Barro Colorado on the Panama Canal and Steff is going along for the ride.
‘But only if I’m bug-free, Dad,’ Steff chimes in, poking her head round the door in her apron. ‘I’ve got to be fumigated and I can’t breathe on anything and I can’t even wear my new fuck-me shoes, can I, Juno?’
‘She can wear her own shoes, but she’s got to wear covers over them,’ Juno explains to me, ‘and nobody gets fumigated. That’s pure decoration, Steff.’
‘And we’ve got to look out for crocodiles as we step ashore, but Juno’s going to carry me, aren’t you, Juno?’
‘And deprive the crocodiles of a square meal? Certainly not. We are there to preserve the wildlife.’
Steff gives a hoot of laughter and closes the door on us. Over lunch, she flashes her engagement ring round the table, but it’s mostly for my benefit because she has bubbled everything to Prue in the kitchen.
Juno says they are waiting until Steff has graduated, which is going to take longer because she has switched to Medicine. Steff hadn’t got around to mentioning this fact to us, but Prue and I have also learned not to over-respond to such life-changing revelations.
Juno had wanted to ask me formally for her hand, but Steff insisted that her hand was nobody’s property but her own. He asks me anyway, across the table, and I tell him it’s their decision alone, and they should take all the time they need. He promises they will. They want children – ‘Six,’ Steff cuts in – but only down the line, and meanwhile Juno would like to introduce us to his parents, who are both teachers in Mumbai, and they plan to visit England around Christmas time. And may Juno please enquire what my profession is, because Steff has been vague and his parents are sure to want to know. Was it civil service or social service? Steff had seemed unsure.
Lounging across the table, one hand for her chin and the other for Juno, Steff waits for my answer. I had not expected her to keep our ski-lift conversation to herself and I hadn’t seen fit to ask her to do so. But evidently she has.
‘Oh, civil all the way,’ I protest with a laugh. ‘Actually foreign civil. Travelling salesman for the Queen with a bit of diplomatic status thrown in about sums it up.’
‘So commercial counsellor?’ Juno enquires. ‘May I tell them British commercial counsellor?’
‘Would do fine,’ I assure him. ‘Commercial counsellor come home and put out to grass.’
To which Prue says: ‘Nonsense, darling. Nat always talks himself down.’
And Steff says: ‘He’s a loyal servant of the Crown, Juno, and a shit-hot one, aren’t you, Dad?’
When they’re gone Prue and I tell each other that maybe it was all a bit of a fairy tale, but if they split up tomorrow Steff will have turned a corner and become the girl we always knew she was. After washing up, we go to bed early because we need to make love and I have a crack-of-dawn flight.
‘So who’ve you got tucked away in Prague then?’ Prue asks me mischievously on the doorstep.
I had told her it was Prague and a conference. I hadn’t told her it was Karlovy Vary and a walk in the woods with Arkady.
*
If there is one item of information from this seemingly endless period of waiting that I have left till last, that is because at the time it occurred I attached no significance to it. On the Friday afternoon, just as the Haven was packing up for the weekend, Domestic Research section, a notoriously lethargic body, delivered itself of its findings concerning the three districts of North London on Sergei’s list. After making a number of useless observations about common watercourses, churches, power lines, places of historical interest and architectural note, they pointed out in a footnote that all three ‘districts under advisement’ were linked by the same bicycle route, which ran from Hoxton to Central London. For convenience they attached a large-scale map with the cycle route painted pink. I have it before me as I write.
11
Not much has been written, and I hope never