Getting up from the table, Eva saw Sister Lucija, standing in the doorway. She smiled at the nun, covered the bread with a cloth, and carried the bowl over to the sideboard by the sink, where she washed and dried her hands. The room smelt of cardamom and cinnamon; Mariam liked to keep a pot of chai on the hotplate. For Lucija, Eva had ground up some coffee beans extra fine. The house already smelt of Sindh; soon it would also smell of Sarajevo.

‘Here,’ Eva said to Lucija, taking down a green-and-pink-striped box from the shelf above the sink, and sitting back down at the table, ‘you’ve got a sweet tooth. Lucette’s sent me a tester pack of the latest things from the chocolate factory. Each one’s imprinted with the face of an epoch-changing woman. They don’t list who’s who, you have to guess; they change weekly. They digital-print the moulds, and there’s a local islands-wide competition. You can win a ...’ She studied the flap of the box. ‘I don’t know what you win. Mention on the next box maybe. There’s obvious people like Virginia Woolf – she has such a good profile for chocolates, like a Roman emperor –’ Eva picked Virginia out, and gave her to Lucija ‘– but also, apparently, locals like Inga, being head of the council.’ She stared into the box. ‘I’m not sure I’d recognise Inga, if I saw her on a chocolate. Inga, are you there?’

With relief, Lucija saw the quick return of Eva’s smile.

‘I’m happy with Virginia,’ Lucija said. She nodded towards the kitchen window. ‘Here comes Mariam.’

‘She walks across the lawn and back, every morning,’ Eva said, ‘to check that the sea is still there, and the sky. I’ll try . . . oh yes, hello, Epona. The Celtic horse-goddess. Lucette has an equine interest. You know, stables out at her place. A horse called Monarch.’ Eva put the pink chocolate in her mouth.

They ate their chocolates in silence, watching as Mariam approached the house.

‘She’s brave,’ Eva said eventually. ‘I think being outside actually scares her. But she makes herself do it.’

‘She loves the moon,’ Lucija said.

Eva’s face brightened again. ‘Yes, we share that love. She says the moon is on the Pakistani flag. She thinks it should be on ours. We gaze upon it, she and I, as avidly as lunatics.’ From the first floor of Harcourt House it was possible to see across to Ayrness Bay, and on clear nights when the moon was full, it cast its light as brightly as a city.

Mariam’s face, framed by her headscarf, was so beautiful, Lucija thought.