I looked round quickly, just in time to see the figure of a woman wearing a red cloak with a hood pulled down over her head, walking briskly round the corner of the Kirk: "who was that?" I called to Aggie, who was smoking a cigarette by the land-rover: "that? oh, it was Madame Oiselle," and I gasped: "do you know her?" and she laughed: "well, as much as anyone can," she replied: "she's a very private person, doesn't let anyone get close to her," and I was gaping: "where does she live?" I asked stupidly, but Aggie shook her head: "no-one's quite sure." she confessed, "some say she's in Darnick, or Gattonside, or even Newstead, but I did hear she has rooms in one of those big houses off High Cross Avenue, the other end from you and your aunts, although it might be up Dingleton Hill," she admitted lamely; so I explained: "she's someone I've never knowingly met, though I keep hearing that she was at the same concert, or meeting of the Historical Society, Literary Society or Burns Supper or Ceilidh as me – what's her story?" and this time Aggie hesitated: "well, and this is only shorthand," she predicated, "her family were German Jews and they got her out in '39 on one of the Kinder Transports, she was passed along after arriving in England – I think she had a brother and sister, but don't know where they went – and through a distant cousin, she landed with the Melrose Rabbi at the time, you won't remember Rabbi Rawicz? a bit before your time, I suppose," and she shook her head understandingly, as I asked: "so she must be eighty or so?" and Aggie nodded: "she was just a baby when she arrived, so yes, eighty-two maybe, now I don't know how kosher the story is," daring me to call it mendacious, as if I would, "but she's certainly one lollapalooza – specialises in Bronze Age fewtrils, has something of an eye for them, nothing so meretricious as those people with metal detectors you see around Trimontium or on the Eildons, she studied Archaeology and History at St Andrews, was involved in digs on the Northern Isles and the Hebrides, your aunts are bound to know her, haven't you asked them?" and I admitted that I hadn't, because it seemed such a foolish interest I didn't want to confess it: "is she a Pilgrim?" I asked, but Aggie shook her head: "not officially, she won't be with the group, but she'll only be about a mile away, she really is someone who needs to keep her own space and distance," and I said: "like Greta Garbo?" and Aggie nodded, quite serious, which made me mentally kick myself for being so crass.