Our food arrived, and I was grateful for the distraction. I believed her, of course. I had believed her before she even answered. Christophor was wrong about so many things. But that is the nature of doubt, isn’t it? From small beginnings, hints, suggestions, it lodges itself like a splinter. From there it corrupts and pollutes gradually, in no hurry because it is assured of its success. I felt it, sitting in the light and airy Orangery, felt it in my chest as I struggled for breath between mouthfuls of oily potatoes.

I should not have opened my mouth. I should have stilled my tongue, or better yet, clamped my teeth down on it. I should have speared another potato and stuffed it whole into my mouth. Instead, I said, ‘And what of Matherson?’

Rebecca finished chewing, laid down her cutlery and stood to leave.

‘Wait, stop, I shouldn’t… I didn’t mean to…’

‘What, Alexsander? What didn’t you mean to?’

But I had no answer. I’d known what I was asking.

She snatched her coat and left.

Other diners glanced at me over their broadsheets and book-spines. I dithered, unsure what to do. I had no appetite and the barely touched glass of wine was tantamount to self-poisoning. I looked to the door, and then back at the empty seat opposite.

Tossing some coins onto the table I hurried after Rebecca.

*

The good weather had brought the townsfolk of Drekenford into the streets. Coming out of The Orangery I stood on tip-toes and shaded my eyes to look in both directions. I caught a glimpse of her, of her maroon coat, turning a corner a hundred yards or so distant. I must have made quite a sight, a man of my age, hurtling down the busy thoroughfare calling, ‘Make way! Make way!’

I rounded the corner where I had seen Rebecca and continued my caterwauling. I found her standing amid a bemused group of respectable citizens. She had been admiring the window of a shop.

‘I was a fool,’ I said, between great gasps of breath.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And no.’

‘It was improper of me.’

‘As long as I’ve known you, when have you been anything else?’

I started to object, and then noticed the group of men and women – and children – listening attentively all about us. I made sure they noticed my noticing. Most then had the good grace to go about their business. But one man grinned encouragingly at me, as if his presence was some kind of support. His wife had to all but drag him away.

‘I’m trying to apologise,’ I said.

‘And I’m trying to decide if you need to.’ She shook her head. ‘I said we’re too old for games, and then I storm out of a perfectly good meal.’

‘I thought the partridge was dry.’

It was good to hear her laugh. We started up the street, arm-in-arm, with no destination decided.

‘Why shouldn’t we share that part of ourselves?’ she said. ‘I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, are you?’