I want to say, I’m wondering why you don’t want to sleep with me, why you have brought me back to your flat twice now to simply put me to bed. Instead, I say, ‘I’m thinking you’re way too cool for me,’ which is also true. Everything about Salvi is, isn’t? His career, the street performing, friends called Dino … Dino must be another Italian professional, I muse. A member of The Profilo, that gentlemen’s club. Maybe he’s a barrister too.

‘Probably,’ Salvi laughs. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’

‘You?’ I hazard, shifting my body slightly so the sheet rides further up my leg and a black silky corner slips from my stomach.

‘You can make scrambled eggs,’ he says. ‘Eggs are in the fridge.’ He goes to the wardrobe and pulls a white shirt from it. A dark suit. A serious tie.

‘You’ve got to go already?’ Disappointment. Again. It spreads through my body like ink.

‘Busy day in court.’ He quickly dresses. He’s now on the edge of the bed, putting his shoes on. I want to reach out and slip my hand under his expensive cotton shirt to touch his back, but I think better of it. It’s OK; he’s busy, he’s important. He doesn’t have to sleep with me if he doesn’t want to. I just feel ashamed that I’ve asked him to. That I’ve invited him to take a part of me, but have been rejected.

‘Right, that’s me,’ Salvi says, standing up. ‘You can let yourself out, like before.’

He walks from the bedroom and into the kitchen. I hear him pick up his keys and zip them into his briefcase.

‘Wait,’ I call, from my satin shroud. ‘When will I see you again?’

He flicks his head back round the bedroom door and grins at me. ‘I’ll call you,’ he says.

CHAPTER 32

The landline phone rings, making me jump. It’s been ultra-quiet in The Palladian this evening, after a day of not doing very much at all (since I arrived back from Salvi’s flat at 10 a.m., all I’ve done is guzzle water, read about the life and times of Jackie Onassis and slump in my chair, ruminating on the excitement and confusion that is Salvi Russo). A day brought to an ennui-filled conclusion by a light early supper of bruschetta with cured ham and mozzarella, and I’ve been dozing fitfully in my chair since about six o’clock. Dad has been comatose since about five. He opens his eyes, too, at the jolt of the phone.

‘Angela?’ he suggests.