‘What’s going on?’ he said as she opened the door, her cheeks hot, the sound of Layla’s screams rising from inside the apartment.

‘Sorry about the latch.’ She moved quickly to the bedroom. ‘Habit, I suppose. You’re back early?’

He placed his keys and gloves on the table in the hall.

‘Things didn’t take as long as I had expected them to. Who were you talking to?’

Her face was focused on Layla as she lifted her out of the cot.

Pretending to be distracted by the crying, she barely turned. ‘Hmm?’

‘Just now, at the window. You were on the phone.’

She tried to laugh. ‘That. Oh, I was making a movie. Don’t laugh, it’s ridiculous.’

‘A movie?’

‘Like a home movie.’ She couldn’t find the words quickly enough. ‘You know what I mean, I was filming the view and then saying where we were. Oh God, I feel so stupid. It’s just a little thing for Layla, I thought it might be nice when she gets older to have a memory of our first trip here together.’

Finally allowing herself to look up, she caught Ivan’s eye and his mouth twitched before forming a hesitant smile. ‘You sentimentalist.’

Kissing her on the forehead, his lips lingering on her skin a moment too long, he took Layla from her arms and she quietened almost instantly.

‘Let’s have a look, then.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The film. Let’s see what you got.’

She paused, her smile threatening to crack. ‘OK,’ she said, pulling the phone from her pocket, the sweat seeping through her palms.

‘Give it to me, then,’ Ivan said, though he was limited from reaching out by the way he was holding Layla.

She took a step back, keeping her eye on the phone, too nervous to make eye contact.

‘Shit.’ She looked at the screen before moving away from him towards the door. ‘It didn’t record. I’m such a Luddite, I must have not pressed the button properly. I’ll go and make us some tea.’

Chapter 60

Gabriela

‘Where did you say we were going for dinner?’ she asked later that afternoon, walking into the dressing room where Ivan was picking a watch from the drawer.

The room was perfectly illuminated by a series of lights impressed like jewels into the lush Italian wallpaper. On one side, it was lined with perfectly pressed shirts mirroring the ones that hung in the dressing room in London. Silk lavender bags hung from the rails.

Ivan had laughed the first time she saw the dressing room in London, watching how Gabriela’s eyes widened at the rows of almost identical suits and leather shoes buffed to a shine on a plinth that ran along the bottom of the exposed wardrobe.

‘I know, it’s a bit Patrick Bateman,’ he winced. ‘But Polina likes to keep it in order, and who am I to complain?’