– for Robert Kenny

Jonathon Locke is sitting at his desk in his office, He swivels his seat around and looks out of one of the two long windows at his back into the street below. It is a fine autumn day and the sun falls in two large squares across the carpet, halfway into the room. One patch of sunlight takes in half of his desk but his chair is in shadow. In the street, the trees have lost most of their leaves and he has an unobstructed view of all the cars and people. About fifty yards away is an intersection with a set of traffic lights. Every few minutes when the lights turn red and the traffic stops, there is a kind of hush in the street, although when the windows are closed, the office is quiet. Quiet enough to speak softly and be heard.

A woman wearing a black dress and hat with cherries is crossing the road in front of his building. She is his client, Mrs Ellcott. She looks up at his windows as she walks but can’t see him in the shadow. Locke swivels his chair round, flicks the switch of the intercom on his desk and says, Mary, show Mrs Ellcott straight in when she arrives, please. He swivels the chair back again and in the same movement, stands up. He takes a cigarette from a plain brass box lined with red felt and lights it with a small gold lighter from his pocket. He stands in the sunlight looking alternately down at the street and at the filtered end of his cigarette. He is making grooves in the exposed end of the filter with his thumbnail. He puts one hand in his side trouser pocket, drawing his jacket back over his hip and walks to the fireplace directly opposite the door.

In front of the fireplace on top of the carpet which extends to the back of the fireplace, is a red and black patterned mat. At each end of the mat is an old leather armchair. Locke ashes into an ashtray standing by the side of one of the chairs. Mrs Ellcott can be heard outside and soon after, knocking at the thick padded door of the office. The door is opened and closed behind her by the secretary who remains hidden from Locke’s view. As Jonathon Locke greets her, Mrs Ellcott walks hesitantly over to the fireplace, the heels of her shoes sinking into the soft pile of the carpet, and sits down in the leather armchair indicated by Locke, facing the window. Locke walks to the desk, picks up the brass box, offers Mrs Ellcott a cigarette and lights it for her. He sits down in the armchair opposite her and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on a small table between his chair and the fireplace. He crosses his legs, leans back sideways and says, Well Mrs Ellcott, what can I do for you?

Mrs Ellcott blows cigarette smoke upwards towards the fireplace in a thin stream. The smoke tumbles over itself in the sunlight. She puts her elbow lightly on the arm of the chair, nervously fingers the dark curls of hair near her forehead and says, Mr Locke. I’m very worried about my husband, She pauses and draws on her cigarette. She looks directly at Locke’s face but the glare from the window makes his face hard to see. Locke sinks further back into his chair and waits for her to speak. She looks down at the mat between them. My husband is missing, she says. He hasn’t been seen at home or at the office for a week and he hasn’t left any messages. I don’t know, I can’t think of any reasonable explanation. She seems to calm herself a little. Locke looks at her before replying. Her lipstick is the same red as the cherries on her close-fitting hat. Her skin is moist looking, a brown-yellow. Around her neck is a small jade pendant on a fine gold chain.

Mrs Ellcott, before considering this case, I feel I must ask you a few delicate but necessary questions. You and your husband have been married for many years and it may be possible…

Mrs Ellcott ashes abruptly into the ashtray beside her chair and breaks in, No, Mr Locke. If Leo was having an affair, everything would’ve been discreetly arranged. You know him, you know he wouldn’t leave like this. I’ve thought of all these possibilities, I’ve been thinking about this for a week. She leans her cheek on her hand and closes her eyes. Locke stands and walks to the

desk for a cigarette and notebook. He lights the cigarette, walks back and leans with his elbow on the mantelpiece over the fireplace, closer to Mrs Ellcott than before. Well. . ., he says, I had better take down the details. As she speaks, he writes down various dates, phone numbers, names and addresses. She looks at him intensely while they are doing this, explaining every detail minutely. She talks quickly and Locke stops her from time to time to repeat a name or explain a connection.

One hour later, Locke is sitting in his chair again facing Mrs Ellcott. He is smoking and the notebook is lying closed on the small table beside him. The sun is still streaming in through the windows but the light is more yellow. The squares of sunlight have become rhomboid and now run a few feet up the fireplace.

Thank you. Thank you, Mr Locke, says Mrs Ellcott. She seems exhausted and is leaning her head against the back of the chair.

Locke says, I will contact you the moment there is any word, Mrs Ellcott. Mrs Ellcott rouses herself and stands up. She straightens her dress, shakes her head slightly and picks up a small black cloth bag with gold fittings which sparkle in the sunlight. She moves her head from side to side trying to see Locke’s eyes. Locke stands up and shakes her hand. Goodbye, Mrs Ellcott, he says.

She walks across the carpet to the door He is leaning against the mantelpiece and watches her thin figure, the black material tight around her waist and her yellow-brown calves showing through her sheer black stockings. The door closes with a soft swish.

Locke stands leaning on the mantelpiece with his thumbnail wedged between his teeth and his eyes staring, unfocussed, at the carpet. I must try to help this woman, he thinks.