Ross drops Richard back at the office, then helps me pack my small number of possessions into the car—a few clothes and personal items, my steam-driven laptop, and my books. None of the furniture is mine, and I wouldn't want it in my lovely new apartment anyway. When we return to the apartment block, with Ross staggering slightly under the weight of a cardboard box full of books, the concierge gives me a key. I notice that he is wearing a fresh shirt and is now sitting upright and alert at his desk.
"You've given me the wrong one," I say. "This is for 127A. Mine is 47A."
"That's the one Mr Haswell said I was to give you."
"Oh. Right." Puzzled, I take the lift to the twelfth floor, Ross following me.
The twelfth-floor apartment is amazing. High above the city, the gorgeous park view is
