Kit was a film buff, obsessed with the cinema and with thetechniques of filming; it was her hobby. She had a camcorder andoften spent a weekend filming landscapes or recording amateur productions at the little local theatre in town. She particularlyloved old black and white films. They had so much moreatmosphere; a tension and power that films shot in colour simplydidn't have, and possessed a sense of the past—a nostalgia— which she found irresistible. When the Classic Film Club hadopened at this small cinema, once known as the Flea Pit but nowmodernised and given the grandiose name of the Imperial— although everyone still called it the Flea Pit, Kit had immediately become a member. She wasn't so much interested in seeing thefilms themselves, which were mostly available on video now, butthe club also had monthly lectures by film critics, directors, andactors; occasionally it even got hold of a rare old film which youwouldn't get on video.People began pushing past her, hurrying to get home or into theChinese restaurant across the road, which was always busy at thistime of night.'Excuse me!' they said impatiently, and Kitstruggled to her feet to let them get by, trying to make herself very small, which wasn't difficult because she was only five feettwo. She mumbled apologies, still clutching her handkerchief, pretending to be blowing her nose.Only when the last one hadfiled past did she turn to follow, and that was when she realisedthat there was one other person still sitting in the row, in the seatnext to her.He was sitting sideways, arms folded, watching her, his longlegs crossed, one foot swinging rhythmically, and he clearly hadno intention of moving.