‘Contesse,’ he said formally – though his heart had begun to beat faster at the sight of her.

‘Captain,’ Fiammis said. Her tone was equally cool.

He placed himself so that the sun was behind him; he saw her dazzled eyes narrow to try to read what was in his face.

‘What are you doing here?’

“The same as you – taking the air. And if we are not to draw attention to ourselves, we had better do as the other visitors,’ she said, sliding one delicate hand under his arm, ‘and… promenade.’

He flinched at her touch – but, seeing Khassian glance around, reluctantly submitted. He hoped he had not been seen.

‘I wonder if you have read the latest issue of the Sulien Chronicle?’ She handed the paper to him. The front headline proclaimed:

THE DIVINE JORDELAYNE TAKES SULIEN BY STORM

No singer has received such a rapturous reception in Sulien since the days of the late, lamented Nightingale, Iridial Magelonne. The pure tone of the world-renowned castrato Cramoisy Jordelayne, the majestic command of the expressive art, all combined to make the recital at the Assembly Rooms an unforgettable evening.

But the item which provoked the most controversy was the first performance of an aria from the Illustre Amaru Khassian’s new opera Elesstar. Such passion! Such fervour! When, the Sulien audience are asking, may we expect to hear more from this remarkable young composer?

‘Well?’ said Acir, handing it back to her. ‘I understood you were here to take the waters. How can this possibly be of interest to you?’

‘It should be of interest to you.’

Irritated at her interference, he turned to pull away but Fiammis’s fingers suddenly tightened on his arm. ‘Look,’ she said softly.

A young woman was threading her way through the crowd towards Khassian, clutching a portfolio of papers. ‘The Magelonne girl,’ he murmured.

Behind her came Cramoisy Jordelayne in an outrageous perruque, long powdered kiss-curls adorned with little crimson bows. The Diva blew kisses to left and right as people in the gardens recognised him.

‘They’re coming this way,’ Fiammis pulled Acir aside from the gravel river-walk.

The musicians went along the gravel walk and passed beneath the arches of the bridge. Fiammis waited a few moments and then darted after them. Acir followed.

‘Where –?’ She gazed around her. The riverbank was deserted, there was no one in sight. ‘They can’t just have vanished!’

Beyond the bridge, the formal gardens with their neatly planted flowerbeds ended in another shady river-walk meandering away beneath the willows.

‘This looks like some kind of grotto.’ Acir pointed to the entrance to a mossy cave which had been skilfully carved out of the rocks to look like a ruined chapel.

‘What are you waiting for!’ Fiammis gathered her skirts in one hand and, gracefully ducking her head so as not to dislodge her hat, went inside.