“Darling, I can’t—don’t fight me,” he said in a low voice, and at that all her resistance melted away. She began to move with him, perfectly in time, and it was inutterably sweet. He watched her face, for that tiny second of stillness which he was beginning to know, and which meant she was just on the edge. Then he could no longer watch because the pleasure was too sharp, the desire too intense. He caught her to him as they came, and said her name. There were other things he wanted to say, and in the next moments was very close to saying, but he forced himself to leave them unspoken. He clasped her hand, trusting that the language of the body would have spoken to her instead.

Later, when they lay beside each other in bed with faint predawn light edging the curtains, she turned to him, her mouth lax with pleasure and her eyes languorous with sexual fatigue. She rested her hand on his stomach, laced her fingers in his pubic hair, and watched him stir, become erect.

An instant tremor of response ran through her body. She leaned across so her breasts brushed against his penis; she bent, and took him in her mouth, and Rowland shuddered at the touch of her tongue and lips.

“We taste of each other,” she said, lifting her head, then kissing his mouth. “Of each other, and of too much sex. We said once—I said once…”

“It was already too late when you said that.” He clasped her hand, and their fingers interlaced. “Once. Five times. Six. A hundred. Does it make a difference?”

“Maybe not. I still want you so much. I can see you, feel you wanting me. In the rue St. Séverin?”

“Yes.” Rowland smiled. “And outside the church too.”

“In the taxi?”

“It was particularly bad in the taxi. Here too. While I was trying to listen to Lindsay, and you were on the phone—I couldn’t really hear what she was saying….”

“I couldn’t hear that policeman. All I could hear was you. Your hands. This.”

She moved so that the lips of her sex brushed the tip of his penis. Then, slowly, her eyes holding his, she lowered herself onto him, as if she were impaling herself on his flesh. There were tears in her eyes.

Drawing her down to him, Rowland kissed her tears. He felt desire for her, and also a profound tenderness.

“Are you sad? Darling, are you?” he said against her mouth. “Don’t be. I understand. It can still be once—in a sense. Just this one night…”

“Yes, that. One night. A time out of time, and…”

She could not continue. She began to tremble. Rowland came with a sense of painful release and an immediate sadness. After that she curled into the curve of his arm and fell asleep, and Rowland lay there, holding her close, listening to her breathing, counting the hours left to them and waiting for the late winter dawn.