Mr Rinyo-Clacton's Offer

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Accident and emergency at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital: cloistered and quiet, full of quickness and slow time, close to but distant from the crawling traffic in the Fulham Road and the rain now making the streets shiny. Sister Melanie Quinn, large and well-built, reminded me of Melencolia, whose face, as I recalled it now, was quite a nice one, friendly even. She drew aside the curtain of the cubicle and there he was, completely submissive to Death.

‘There was no damage to his face,’ she said, and lifted the sheet. His face looked much smaller than usual, softer and younger, not sulking at all. The eyes were closed.

‘That’s him,’ I said. ‘T. Rinyo-Clacton.’

‘That’s him,’ said Katerina. ‘His face is just exactly the same as his father’s.’

‘Are you next of kin?’ said Sister Quinn.

‘I’m his mother,’ said Katerina.