Shortly after nine that night, Dexter left the bar with  Renee van Houten, a trainee pharmacist from  Rotterdam  with  fading  henna  on  her  hands,  a  jar  of  temazepam  in  her  pocket  and  a poorly executed tattoo of Woody Woodpecker at the base of her spine. He could see the bird leering at him lewdly as he stumbled through the door.

In  their  eagerness  to  leave,  Dexter  and  his  new  friend  accidentally  jostled  Heidi Schindler, twenty-three years old, a chemical engineering student from Cologne. Heidi swore at  Dexter,  but  in  German,  and  quietly  enough  for  them  not  to  hear.  Pushing  through  the crowded bar, she shrugged off her immense backpack and searched the room for somewhere to collapse. Heidi‘s features were red and round, like a series of overlapping circles, an effect exaggerated  by  her  round  spectacles,  now  steamy  in  the  hot  humid  bar.  Bad-tempered, bloated on Diocalm, angry with the friends who kept running off without her, she collapsed backwards on a decrepit rattan sofa and absorbed the full scale of her misery. She removed her steamy spectacles,  wiped them on the  corner of her t-shirt, settled  on the sofa  and felt something hard jab into her hip. Quietly, she swore again.

Tucked between the ragged foam cushions was a copy of  Howards End, a letter tucked into the opening pages. Even though it was intended for someone else, she felt an automatic thrill of anticipation at the red and white trim of the air-mail envelope. She tugged the letter out, read it to the end, then read it again.

Heidi‘s English wasn‘t particularly strong, and some words were unfamiliar – ‗discersion‘ for example, but she understood enough to recognise this as a letter of some importance, the kind of letter that she would like to receive herself one day. Not quite a love-letter, but near enough. She pictured this ‗Em‘ person reading it, then re-reading it, exasperated but a little pleased  too,  and  she  imagined  her  acting  upon  it,  walking  out  of  her  terrible  flat  and  the rotten  job  and  changing  her  life.  Heidi  imagined  Emma  Morley,  who  looked  not  unlike herself, waiting at the Taj Mahal as a handsome blond man approached. She imagined a kiss and Heidi began to feel a little happier. She decided that, whatever happened, Emma Morley must receive this letter.

But there was no address on the envelope and no return address for ‗Dexter‘ either. She 

scanned  the  pages  for  clues,  the  name  of  the  restaurant  where  Emma  worked  perhaps,  but there was nothing of use.