If I were in possession of an art collection like Axel's, I would also want a housekeeper as scary and sour as Gertrude. Even a pleasantry would invite her disdain so I decided to ignore her and, delightfully, Axel was fine with that. Gertrude has a frown draped over her face, her lips are as hard as pressed rubber. It's probably not her fault. One can sense  generations of repression had gone into that frown but I did wonder why the presence of so much erotic art and sculpture had not made her more accepting of human foible. If I didn't know Axel better I would think there was a blood tie. But as a professional homosexual who considers himself to have evolved beyond blood ties I know he would never be seen dead with a relative in the house. Nevertheless, I let Gertrude take Thom down to the basement. To meet the scullery girls, said Axel, with a grin. I grinned back. I was here to have a conversation and it wasn't the time to be over protective.

A few magisterial nudes by Cranarch the Elder led the way into the library. A male Rodin served as a hatstand. Was that a Vallotton? Axel indicated to the left. There was an oversize Man Ray study, Natasha, nude. It also served as the door into the backroom for the antiquarian erotica. To push open the door I had to place my hand over Natasha's breast and, as I did so, I noticed Axel close his eyes, solemnly. This was his most private place, a room filled wall to wall with thousands of books about sex. And on a small table in front of me was Walter's My Secret Life, all eleven volumes, immaculate in blue quarter leather. One of only two known copies. I gasped for air. I had never seen it before. And yet, entering the room I had also glimpsed, just prior to My Secret Life, a copy of Nicolas Chorier's Aloisiae Sigeae Toletanae Satyra Sotadica de arcanis Amooris et Veneris, the first edition of 1659 and, after, a shelf full of other editions of the same up to the 18th century, including one with plates by Elluin. I was stunned. I was meant to be amazed by My Secret Life but I had spotted the Chorier. Not wanting to disappoint Axel I started sniffing the eleven volumes on the table. I caught my breath. It seemed to point to some perversity in my soul that I had ruined my moment with Walter's Secret Life. In my infinite greed, I had found something else. Was it just the unending lasciviousness of man? Or was it a defence against the hurt of merely one book? I recalled all the names that Karen had called me that summer day. I heard them raining down on me all over again and knew I deserved every one of them.

I want you to write a book, said Axel.