‘But I’m happy here. For the first time in my life.’

Delphine touched his hand. ‘But it’s not a very long life, is it? Not yet.’

‘You think I’m being dramatic.’

‘You have a tendency. But listen. Two weeks in Paris. Then you come home. Most people would love that.’

‘I have a fear …’

‘What?’

‘That you won’t be here when I get back.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Well, perhaps I’ll go to the rooms in Vienna for a few days. That’s all.’

‘What if my country declares war on yours?’

She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Everything will be fine.’

They were standing face to face on the veranda in the summer evening. He was gripping her by the wrists as he stared into the brown eyes in whose light, for some reason, all his future seemed to lie – glittering, it was fair to say, yet unbiddable.

She smiled at him again, an eyebrow raised.

There was a pause.

‘I wish I’d never met you,’ he said.

‘Oh, really!’

‘I do. I thought loving someone would make me feel safe. Not precarious. Not balanced on a precipice.’

Delphine looked down. It was the first time he had seen her abashed.

When she raised her head at last and looked at him, she said, ‘Well now you know.’

‘Do you mean …’ He stopped, unwilling to believe himself. ‘No. What do you mean?’

‘That’s why I was careful, why I took my time. I didn’t want to be standing on that precipice alone.’

‘So … So you love me in the same way.’

‘You’re starting to understand.’

‘But I have so little to offer you.’

‘Let me tell you a few of the things you offer. Respectability to a woman with a slightly … compromised past.’

‘Respectability! In our unmarried household in the middle of—’

‘Ssh. Let me finish. Not some neat petit bourgeois version of respectability. I lost that years ago. But you represent something fair-minded, something that won’t be rocked or swayed by fashion or events. I could live a life with you and be neither bored nor betrayed.’

‘It doesn’t sound very exciting.’

‘Will you stop interrupting! And then there’s all the joy. The sound of your voice, the feel of your skin. The laughter and the way my heart lifts when I hear your footstep coming to the door. The sight of your doubtful smile.’

‘I never knew.’

‘I didn’t want you to become big-headed.’

‘I don’t think I—’

‘No. But one day you may become well known. Or rich. Or something else annoying. And then there’ll be a danger.’

‘But you’ll be here to save me.’

‘If you want me to be here.’

‘I could no longer choose another woman than I could choose a different mother – or another name.’

‘How fortunate, then, that you found me.’ Delphine had begun to smile again. ‘In the music room.’

Anton packed his suitcase as though every shirt he put in, every sock and every book was a thrust to his heart. It didn’t feel like the prospect of a visit to one of the world’s great cities; it felt as if he was preparing his own funeral. The hours ground by, slower than the hands of the old Gymnasium clock. He went with heavy footsteps in a world that had grown cold; Delphine waved from the door, her left hand making high circular motions in the evening light, as the cab took him away.