That might have been the sparkles from the twinkling lights on the ceiling. Not the lady turning a mirror-smooth object upside down. Nor the two other ladies in jackets that could have been floral and butterfly wall murals. Why had the pair let him in when, except for another butterfly and florals-decored man at the-

“Been a while, Mr Jones,” a voice said from behind.

Blinking, Jo spun around and backed away at the same time; to see an orange and blossom waistcoated man with a gaze that could soured yoghurt. “G-Glorifhun-” he began, “I thought-”

“That I wasn’t here?” the man replied, shirt as dark as the waistcoat was pink and citrus. “On more of a back seat?”

“Something - like that.”

“But I had, I would have missed your thoughts about our front door,” Glorifhun continued, taking a step forward. “A door he said you would like.”

“He?” said Jo, taking a step back. “You took advice?”

“Dual consensus,” a voice said, belonging to a lady with a waistcoat of glow blue and plum velvet irises and a contrasting stell-amber brooch. “Just as you’d better have a good explanation.”

“Look, it’s your place, Glorifhun,” Jo began.

“And Fortuné’s; fifty per cent stake.”

“Your’s, and Fortuné’s,” Jo continued, nodding at the arms-folded lady. “You could turn this into the grounds of the calm space with moss-rocks rising out of swirl-sand; and not care about anyone’s remarks. My own comparisons were harsh, I see that now. But please, don’t throw me back out.”

“He said you would say that in your apology,” said Glorifhun.

“Who’s…He?”

“Knows you to a J, Mr Jones,” said Fortuné, grin wider than that of the Lunar Cat, “right down to the password.”

“J? Jay! Why that-“

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“Apology accepted, dear chap,” Glorifhun chuckled. “Playhouse - singular or plural - was correct.”

“He - put you up - to this?”

“Triple agreement,” Fortuné winked, heading toward the bar. “Plus Glorifhun loves the look on your face when you lose the overcast exterior. That and the day-to-day of this place.”

“I miss you, Fortuné,” said Glorifhun, spinning Jo as he also headed barwards, “and our infrequent duo.”

“With no mention of the poor soul who holds the fort whilst you perform yet another prank,” the floral man at the bar said without turning.

“No words can describe how dearly we hold you in our regards, Marius,” said Fortuné.

“Marius?” Jo repeated as he reached the counter, then saw that the man was looking at him. Looking and smiling.

“Mr Jones,” he said, waistcoat a field of bluebells, “this is a surprise.”

“Have we - met before?” said Jo, trying not to stare at the amber bee brooch on the waistcoat surface.

“Not formally,” the man continued. “Although I believe you may have met my colleague.” He titled his head across the space to a curve of sofas and a table in one of the bay windows. To a woman, dressed in freesias and pears, only the pattern flowed in the form of a dress. Although the short, upswept hair - like Suzé’s but indigo - and the hawk-sharp gaze soon struck a light.

“…Triné…” said Jo, “then you’re~“

“The mysterious Mr Opal,” said Glorifhun, pouring a scarlet liquid into a lime-sheened flask.

“Call me Marius,” the man said with a bow, “and the honour is mine.”

“But you’re not usually around when Jay visits,” said Jo, wondering why the indigo, jet and gold shades worn by Triné and the rest of the staff in the - clinic - were not on either her or Marius’ faces. “Usually out of town.”

“But can make room for initial appointments,” Marius added. “You should visit.”

“Not even once?” said Glorifhun, adding a shot of fluorescent lemon to the flask, “you’re missing out, Jo.”

“I’ll - see when I’ve got - a window,” said Jo. He’d seen how Jay had come back the first time; and how Suzé had had to drag him up there for the next. Paler than the moon on both occasions and ate porridge for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a week; including changes of fruit.

“I’m away for a fortnight, but Triné and Suzé can exchange timetables for the week after,” said Marius. “Plus it’s all complimentary.”

“W-what?” Glorifhun gasped, shaking the flask. “Take it up, Jo.”

“I’ll speak to Suzé,” said Jo, trying not to look at the bees on the field of bluebells.

“You won’t regret it,” said Marius, bowing again then picking up a tray with three glasses of swirl and sparkle. “See you both in a bit, Glorifhun and Fortuné.”

Jo watched him head toward the bay window occupied by Triné and a man in a plum-with-lavender-daises waistcoat. Although he couldn’t get rid of the sensation that they were looking at him rather than Marius. Looking and studying, like a pair of silver-lidded crows.

But enough of them, and the curved front clinic next to Biscuit Place that they belonged to. Back to Fortuné staring at him as if he had eaten a full gateau.