Burgess packed for the weekend. A cruise on the Falaise. Overnight from Southampton, a couple of stopovers at French resorts, and back on Monday morning. Dinner jacket. Tweed suit, three hundred quid in white fivers—far more than was necessary, but he’d have to change some of that into francs—new razor, old badger-hair brush … and his Complete Jane Austen. Two things an Englishman should never go abroad without—Jane Austen and a badger-hair shaving brush. Even so, there was still spare room in the suitcase. Perhaps a bit of George Eliot, but Middlemarch weighed as much as two bricks, and pocket-sized and light as it was, Silas Marner had never been his favourite. He picked up the bill Troy had read out to him. It was certainly from a hotel—even he could make out that word—but he wouldn’t put it past Troy to have made up the rest as a leg-pull. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket.