‘Are we living together? I suppose so.’ Her expression darkened for a moment. ‘He takes care of me. Heaven knows, I need it.’ She broke off, and craned her neck to try to see through the circular window in the door behind the bar. She called out something in Spanish, waited a moment, then picked up a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar and began to throw them one by one at the door. The barman appeared. The peanuts on the floor crunched under his shoes. He scowled at April, his already dark face darkening with anger. April took no notice, only waggled her glass on its base to indicate she needed a refill. Phoebe smiled at him tentatively, but he ignored her. He snatched the bottle from the shelf behind the bar and filled the glass halfway with gin. April spoke to him again, in Spanish, in a wheedling tone this time, batting her eyelashes at him in a vampish parody. He made no reply, and went away again.

‘I shouldn’t be drinking,’ April said, and laughed. ‘They’ll smell it on my breath, and I’ll be sacked, and then I’ll have to find another sugar daddy to get me a new job.’

Phoebe hadn’t noticed Strafford coming in. She saw him now, sitting at a table in a far corner, with a cup of coffee, opening his book with the green binding. April would have done well in the time of Tiberius, she thought.

‘Do you ever consider coming home?’ she asked.

April stared at her.

‘To Ireland? You must be joking. Anyway, I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.’

‘Why?’

The barman came through the swing door again, and put a little folded paper packet on the bar and pushed it forward with a fingertip. April picked it up quickly and stowed it down the front of her blouse.

‘Gracias, cariño, te amo,’ she said silkily, and kissed her fingers to the barman. He glanced at Phoebe and heaved an ironical sigh. When he was gone, April turned to Phoebe and winked. ‘My little billet-doux,’ she whispered.

‘Tell me why you can’t go home,’ Phoebe said.

April put on a vague look, and shrugged.

‘Just can’t.’ She drank from her glass and grimaced. ‘Jesus, it’s neat gin,’ she said, and giggled. ‘I’ll be completely pissed.’ She looked at Phoebe in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry I hung up on you, by the way,’ she said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘But you gave me a shock. A voice out of the past.’ She smiled impishly, and for a second Phoebe saw the younger version of her, the one she used to know, in the old days. Which weren’t very old – what was it, four years since they had last seen each other? It seemed far longer than that.