Mr Cadmus. Peter Ackroyd

you please. Very dark. Very sweet. It stimulates me.’ Miss Swallow put a hand up to her throat.

      ‘They haven’t found him yet.’ Jennifer Pound had returned to their table with their cups and saucers.

      ‘Who is that, dear?’ Maud Finch was only mildly interested.

      ‘The rapist. They’re calling him the beast of Barnstaple.’

      ‘A rapist. Oh my goodness.’ Miss Swallow had not caught up with the local news.

      ‘It happened four nights ago. Outside the cinema.’

      ‘Oh my goodness.’

      ‘And then two nights ago. By the leisure centre.’

      ‘This is terrible,’ Millicent Swallow said. ‘No one is safe these days.’

      ‘It could be anyone.’ Jennifer Pound enjoyed bad news. ‘It makes you think. It might be someone who comes in here, for all I know. Appearances are deceptive.’

      ‘I am told,’ Maud Finch remarked, ‘that the most dangerous criminals are often the most harmless-looking men.’

      ‘All too true, dear lady,’ Mr Cadmus interjected. ‘I myself have known the most damnable villains with the look of choir boys. All Europe is full of them. Adventurers. Charlatans.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it. One does hear …’ Miss Finch’s opinions of Europe were not to be expressed to a foreigner.

      ‘I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I know it.’ Miss Swallow was alarmed. ‘To think of this person only a few miles away.’

      ‘You should be fine.’ Jennifer Pound was smiling at her. ‘He only attacks young women.’

      ‘So far. You don’t know what he might be capable of.’

      ‘You will just have to look under the bed.’ Jennifer Pound was still smiling.

      Maud sipped her tea delicately. ‘Before you work yourself up into a panic, Millicent, I suggest we visit Tesco.’

      Mr Cadmus wanted to accompany them both in the supermarket, but the ladies insisted on separating from him. They did not wish to reveal their purchases to a relative stranger. In fact they bought only the familiar merchandise of any household, but Mr Cadmus was more adventurous. He purchased smoked duck, pickled herring, a tin of sauerkraut and a large box of pretzels. When Miss Swallow saw him unload the goods in front of the girl on the till, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Miss Finch was too flustered to notice.

      ‘Did you remember detergent?’ she asked her on the journey home.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And the Flash?’

      ‘Oh yes. But I am torn between the solution and the cream.’

      ‘I prefer the solution. It has a lovely fragrance.’

      It seemed to Miss Finch that Mr Cadmus was a little subdued; he was humming a tune she did not recognise, and he was driving more steadily than before.

      ‘And how did you find Barnstaple?’ she asked him.

      ‘It is admirable in itself. It lacks romance, perhaps.’

      ‘Not very warm praise.’

      ‘I cannot flatter, dear Miss Finch. I can only speak the truth as I see it. I know that honesty is not always the wisest policy, but I cannot help myself. That is Cadmus.’ His eyes moistened as he turned momentarily towards her. ‘Forgive me.’

      ‘Oh, there is nothing to forgive. I agree with you entirely. Barnstaple is not romantic. It has other qualities, perhaps, but romance is not one of them.’

      ‘It is charming in its own way.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘But, you know, charm is only skin-deep.’

      ‘I agree.’

      Miss Swallow had woken from a slight doze a few moments before. ‘Did you say that Barnstaple lacked character?’

      ‘Not at all. It does have character.’

      ‘Surely that is romantic.’

      ‘Ah, Miss Swallow, romance is an elusive thing. It is airy. It is like a perfume or a breeze. Have you not felt it in the past? Have you not sensed it?’

      ‘I really could not say, Mr Cadmus.’

      ‘You are among friends. But there will come a day when you confide in me. I know it.’