Mrs. P.? Oh, no. She’s the help. Bosnian, you know. Or is it Serbian? An absolute treasure, anyway. As I always say to Be, if there’s one good thing to come out of all this fuss in the Balkans, it’s the availability of quality staff. . .” The words died away on my lips: once again I found myself trailing off in the stare of those unblinking eyes. This fellow was like some kind of after-dinner black hole. My anxiety began to mount again.

An Evening of Long Goodbyes