He might not be able to touch her with his ruined hands but it seemed that his voice caressed her.

“This is good. Very good.’ He leant over her, closer still. The warmth was tangible now, the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck. ‘You have understood my intentions… perfectly…’

‘I have?’ she whispered, turning her face to his.

‘I’m back!’ Cramoisy threw open the doors. Khassian drew away from Orial; she, blushing, began to assemble her pencils, pens and rulers.

Cramoisy deposited a number of little packages on the couch, talking loudly all the while, as if he had noticed nothing.

‘The perfumier’s only had the citrus pomade, the astringent, so I bought a bottle of the bay lotion though it is somewhat inferior to the Bel’Esstar kind. I thought you must have finished for this afternoon. It is nearly time to meet Azare.’

‘I’ll get my cloak,’ Orial said, eyes lowered so as not to meet Cramoisy’s gaze.

‘Let me help you, child.’ He followed her out into the hall and, lifting down Orial’s cloak, placed it around her shoulders. As he did so, the castrato whispered, ‘Listen to me, Orial. Don’t be taken in by Khassian’s charm. He loves only himself. He cares only for his own music.’

Orial started and took a step away from the Diva.

‘Why are you saying this to me? Do you think I plan to take him away from you?’

‘From me?‘ Cramoisy placed one lace-gloved hand on his heart and began to laugh. ‘Oh, my dear, he’s never truly been mine.’

‘But I thought –’ Orial stopped, confused. She was floundering, out of her depth.

‘That I was his lover? That’s a little charade we’ve kept up for years. Well, there was a time…’ The mischievous glitter in Cramoisy’s eyes faded. ‘But we were not suited to each other, not in that way…’

‘I never meant to pry –’

‘Composers are curious creatures. Self-absorbed. Selfish. Single-minded. The music always comes first.’

The Commissaire of the Sulien Constabulary heard a gentle tap at his door. He glanced at the pile of warrants awaiting his signature. Paperwork, always more paperwork. He took up his pen.

‘I’m busy.’

The door opened.

‘I said, I’m busy.’ He set down his pen, ready to blast the intruder with a volley of words.

‘Not too busy to see me, I trust, Commissaire?’

He looked up and saw a young woman, ravishingly attired in jonquil colours: white, lemon-yellow, saffron-gold.

‘Madame, I –’ He rose clumsily to his feet. ‘Never too busy to see a lady as – as –’ Beautiful? Desirable? Words deserted him. ‘As yourself.’

‘I am here on a confidential matter.’

‘How can I assist you, madame? Stolen valuables, maybe? Some undesirable characters haunt Sulien in the season. But let me assure you, you can place complete confidence in me and my men –’