She was with Stephen on the crest of a hill, looking down into a beautiful valley. There was a farmstead in need of renovation or demolition. Hills stretched out on all sides, peak after peak, fold after fold, fading into a blue haze on the horizon. She stood revelling in the lushness, the space, the promise. Something fell into place deep inside her. She was home.

The valley gave her space to dream, and her dreams were of a place more just and beautiful than anything else that existed in the world. She glanced at Stephen and saw an expression on his face that she recognised. It was the look he had the first time he saw Eltham Palace; the look of the creator.

He held out his hand to her and together they walked down the hill into the valley.

Stephen refused to leave Ginie’s bedside. The hospital staff urged him to sleep, to eat; they said he would break down if he didn’t look after himself, but he was deaf to their advice. He sat in an uncomfortably upright chair, his eyes on Ginie who lay motionless, her face like a wax figure. There was a frame underneath the bedsheets, keeping their weight off her. Her chest rose quickly and fell slowly, he could hear the breath whistling in her lungs.

The bullet was a flesh wound; it had passed through her side, missing all the vital organs. She’d been lucky, the doctors said, but she had lost a lot of blood. She wasn’t out of danger yet.

Who could have foreseen that a gentle, cultured person like Diana was capable of such violence? She was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Stephen had seen her briefly at La Rochelle, before she was led away in handcuffs. She had been incoherent and gibbering pitifully, like a cornered animal. He couldn’t blame her for what had happened any more than he blamed Ginie for being oblivious to the effect she had on others.

What an almighty mess it was, so many lives destroyed. He could barely contain the wrenching blend of love and fear and anger inside him. Sunlight fell against the drawn curtains, making it look like they were on fire. A nurse in a starched blouse, linen skirt and cap came in to take Ginie’s blood pressure and temperature. Stephen forced himself to smile at her, but Ginie didn’t stir the whole time she was being treated. A cart clattered in the ­corridor. The nurse kneaded the base of her spine with her fingers and said there was no change in Gine’s condition. Her shoes squeaked across the linoleum floor as she left.