Once in our suite, I drop the hand and hurry to the dressing room. The chambermaid has unpacked our suitcases and laid out our toiletries in the bathroom. I brought a silk negligee of the kind a bride would wear, and I shimmy it on now and brush my teeth and slather on the cold cream. When I’m finished, I step into the living room and tell Fox the coast is clear.

By arrangement, I’m to sleep on the giant bed in the bedroom, and Fox on the sofa nearby, covered by a blanket. For the record, I did protest. I said that as Fox was twice my weight, he should have the bed—my God, think of the embarrassed explanation should the delicate sofa come to grief in the night. But Fox only regarded me gravely and said that he wouldn’t sleep a wink in that case.

So I climb alone onto the giant bed—some kind of elaborate relic of the Russian Empire, or else a convincing reproduction. The chambermaid has already turned back the heavy brocade bedspread, and a piece of chocolate lies on the pillow. I eat the chocolate even though I’ve already brushed my teeth. I hear faint noises from the bathroom, rushing water and so on, and a moment later Fox appears in a pair of silk pajamas that hang strangely on him.

I point to the walls. “Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, yourself.”

I pat the mattress next to me. He walks across the gilded room and lowers himself on the bed. He doesn’t exactly move with the fluid grace you might expect of an athlete, but then he never has. I haven’t asked him about the prison camp. I’ve always thought there are things nobody wants to talk about, especially to a woman you hardly know. He has a slight limp to his walk, which you only notice if you pay close attention, and the motion of his left hip isn’t quite what it should be—again, too subtle for the casual observer, but by now I’m no longer a casual observer. He lays his hands on his knees and looks sheepish.

“What an evening,” I say. “I think I might have had a little too much wine. I’m just so nervous about seeing my sister. It’s been years.”

“Nervous? You?”

“Yes, nervous! You’ve never had a twin sister, or you’d understand.”

“I wouldn’t worry. She wouldn’t have asked you to come if she didn’t want to mend fences, would she?”

“Or unless she’s that worried about the birth. Do you think she’ll be all right?”

“I’m sure they have terrific doctors here. She’ll be fine. And you’ll be here to help her.”