I don’t think I could uproot JL again, in any case. She’s forty-eight next year, which is a bit late in life to change hemispheres. Once Banquet is out of the way she’ll presumably be struggling to start the next one. Easy to lose the baby, as you know, in those first few months. By the time she’s really got into her stride, though, she certainly won’t want to be interrupted. And then, if I know her obstinate, dogged nature, she’ll want to keep her head down until she’s finished. By which time, of course, she’ll be in her fifties – and starting the process all over again. My one gift to her in this life has been the stability and peace she needs to work. Which is to say that nothing has happened, nothing is happening now and nothing will ever happen again. Not if I can help it. No lovers, no Japanese autograph-hunters on the doorstep. I go through the mail. I am deeply discouraging on the telephone. I have built a cork-lined life around her.