Jared had appeared out of nowhere, as always. Connie had spent the afternoon strolling past the colourful buildings and famous churches along the impressive Royal Way – sometimes referred to as ‘the Champs-Élysées of Poland’. She was with some of the group, poking into small shops and stopping for coffee and delicious pastries. It was hot again, the June sun a welcome relief from the previous two days of rain.

She had come out of a trinket shop, Audrey from Wisconsin hanging on her arm and bending her ear about her grandson’s extensive collection of snow-globes. Sitting at an outside table in the café next door, sipping iced tea from a tall glass, Ray-Bans and hair glinting in the sun, was Jared. He looked up as Connie and Audrey passed, raising his eyebrows just a touch in greeting. Connie jolted, held her breath, but was unable to stop a small smile in return. Audrey waffled on, oblivious. Tonight, she’d thought, her heart banging like a gong she thought the whole of the boulevard must hear.

For the rest of the day, Connie had fretted: she knew they would make love again – just the thought of it made her stomach flip, her heartbeat thump out of rhythm. But without the blind, almost furtive haste of that Kraków night and the cover of the duvet, she was suddenly conscious of her age, her breasts, her belly, the not-so-firm skin of a woman over sixty. Jared was still young – younger than her by ten years, anyway. Dressed, she passed muster, perhaps, but it was a whole different thing to strip off in front of a man she barely knew. In her mind’s eye she ran through her underwear: bog-standard M&S, nothing frilly or even remotely enticing enough. How could he possibly still want her, her body revealed in all its nakedness?

But, in the end, nothing mattered. He had walked through the door – having texted first from the lobby this time – and that had been that. She forgot about her shortcomings. There was no self-consciousness between them, only desire.

Now she heard him turn and rolled to face him. His fingers brushed a strand of hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She took his hand and cupped it to her cheek. Then she said softly, ‘You made me laugh today, sitting like a spy at that café table, with your shades and your newspaper.’

‘It was in Polish,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I couldn’t read a word.’

They fell silent.

‘We’re leaving tomorrow … Well, it’s today now.’ Her words sounded loud in the quiet room. They went unanswered: Jared was asleep.