She takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. Wooden risers, wooden treads. Cool black wood handrail, very old, going up. The turn of the stair is narrow and steep, bringing us physically very close, my face level with her sacrum as she climbs. From one inhalation to the next, I realise I can smell her skin. On the landing she faces me, and again we are inside that circle of arms which presages intimacy, pressed by the walls and the bookshelf.