‘Quite. Quite.’

The bridal suite had been occupied but they’d managed to secure a lavishly furnished room with an en suite that provided constant hot and cold running water. It was not abroad but Vivian was somewhat mollified. They were shown to their room; she noted the twin beds immediately. ‘There must be some mistake.’ The bellboy looked panicked and confused. He checked the key number and shook his head. Vivian stared pointedly at the twins but he still didn’t understand. She could hardly request a double bed. She waited for Aubrey to say something discreet and effective. Aubrey coughed. Tipped the bellboy heavily. ‘That will be all.’

They’d dined in the River Restaurant. Neither of them had wanted anything heavy, so they chose omelettes, then Vivian had baisers de Vierge but Aubrey said he didn’t have a sweet tooth; that she should go ahead, if she liked that sort of thing. It was hard to enjoy the meringue with vanilla cream and crystallised white rose and violet petals because eating alone made her feel like a child being treated to an ice at the beach. After just four mouthfuls she put down the spoon. Aubrey signed for the food.

As they walked through the foyer towards their room, he hesitated by the piano. ‘You play, don’t you?’

‘Not well.’

‘Oh come, I think all young ladies say as much so that when we hear them we are all the more impressed.’

‘Maybe, but I actually am rather hopeless.’ Vivian glanced nervously around the foyer. A middle-aged couple had slowed down to eavesdrop on their conversation; they smiled encouragingly.

‘Do play,’ urged the woman. No doubt she thought she was doing Vivian a favour, allowing her to showcase her talents whilst remaining modest.

Vivian smiled but whispered with insistence, ‘Oughtn’t we to be getting on? It’s been a big day.’

‘There’s no rush,’ replied Aubrey. Vivian felt stung; she believed there should have been. For months she’d tried to block out thoughts of Nathaniel Thorpe. Comparisons were useless and odious, but at that moment it was impossible not to remember his desire, his urgency.

Or then again, his transiency.

Aubrey, she supposed, did not have to hurry. They were married. They had forever. He opened the piano lid and pulled out the small velvet stool. He tapped it with the flat of his palm, indicating that she should sit. By now a small crowd had gathered, expecting to be entertained. What choice did she have? She sat and started to play.

She struggled through ‘Persian Garden Tango’. She tried her very best but her fingers didn’t cooperate. They were stiff and slow. The polite, unenthusiastic applause condemned her more clearly than even booing could.

‘Perhaps I should have gone for “By The Beautiful Sea”. It’s a catchy little ditty,’ she whispered to Aubrey. ‘Not too demanding.’

He didn’t reply. The tips of his ears were scarlet. The middle-aged lady who had initially encouraged Vivian to perform avoided her eye. Aubrey silently offered his arm and led her away to the lift. She stared at him, willing him to laugh off the embarrassment or to say something charming and comforting. Eventually, as the lift doors closed on the unenthused crowd, he muttered, ‘You ought to practise more.’