‘Call me if you need to get up. I’ll be next door.’

She poured herself a drink and slumped down in front of the television, exhausted and on the verge of tears. It had been a wretched afternoon. She tried all the channels for some mindless entertainment that would take her into a fantasy world, but there was nothing that she wanted to watch. The doorbell rang and she let the nurse in. The flat was quiet and gloomy, and the clock ticked heedlessly away.

‘You have to put your life on hold for a while,’ Tom had said, in his brusque manner. ‘Everything has hit you at once – your injury and your mother’s illness. There’s not much you can do except wait the bugger out for a while, and then, caramba, life will begin again.’

He had meant to be kind and Camilla was surprised by his effort. He was usually dismissive in his approach to everyday trials and woes, and he did not like his models to bring their personal problems to work with them. He had met Marina several times, however, and something within him was genuinely saddened by the idea that this lovely creature had been handed down a death sentence, with no possibility of appeal. Camilla had been grateful, aware of real, human sympathy. But there was no such thing as putting one’s life on hold. The days rolled on and not one of them could ever be returned to her, or played out again. Marina was dying, her future had been snatched away from her, and even with her mastery of self-delusion she could not escape this one shocking fact, or deny the swift disintegration of her body.

Camilla stood up and closed the sitting-room curtains to block out the evening rain that beat against the windows. She did not want to go to bed but she had no desire to linger in the deathly quiet sitting room, and she paced the carpet, trying to rid herself of self-pity and anxiety, searching for a focus that would bring her peace of mind. When the telephone rang she picked it up without thinking, only to hear her father’s voice.

‘Marina? Are you all right, my dear?’ George’s voice was full of tenderness. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but I’ve been tied up at some infernal banquet all evening and this is the first chance—’

‘She’s asleep. You can ring tomorrow morning. Not too early.’

She hung up, shaking, and looked in on Marina whose stillness was a tribute only to the strength of her sleeping tablets. The nurse was in an armchair, and she glanced up from her book and smiled.

‘I’m going out for a little while,’ Camilla said. ‘Back later – I’m staying here tonight.’