She told him about being deserted by her lover, about the botched abortion and how losing the baby had hurt her for years. Words she had kept damned up inside her poured out of her lips, a tidal wave. Her throat burned and ached as she talked. When she stopped to catch her breath, he tried to fold her in his arms and for a moment, she almost let him. But she steeled herself and continued.

‘No, you don’t understand, Stephen.’ Her voice caught. ‘The point is the abortion left me barren. Do you see? I’m barren, I can’t get pregnant. I. . . I’ve known it since before I met you.’

She watched his face change as he made the connection. His eyes met hers for half a second and he looked away.

Silence stretched out, empty and dangerous. The memory of that bedroom in Italy slid into her mind: hungover and aching with misery, Paulo’s tormented eyes. . . the slam of the front door behind him. It terrified her.

At last, Stephen said, ‘So. . . when you came to me before we were married and told me you were pregnant. . . you were lying.’ His voice was so flat and hard, it was as if a stranger spoke.

She swallowed. ‘I was frightened of losing you.’

‘Every month, you let me hope, and you never said a word.’

She nodded in despair.

‘Why?’

‘If I could turn the clock back and do it differently, I would.’

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Solfo was gazing anxiously at them.

‘I hate it that you lied.’

‘I’ll never lie to you again,’ she said, ‘I swear.’

There was another pause. She tried to take his hand, but he shook her off. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, swollen with unshed moisture. The wind was picking up, buffeting her, blowing pieces of hair across her face. Her eyes started to smart. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and nose, willing herself not to cry.

‘The truth is,’ said Stephen slowly, ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference.’

She looked at him incredulously.

‘I would have wanted to marry you anyway. You are everything to me.’

He brought his eyes up to meet hers. She saw the love and need in them and realized that with Stephen, she could be the person she really was; she could reveal all of herself and be loved. A slow joy rose in her. She reached for him, but he shrank away.

‘What is it?’ she asked, gripped by fear again.

‘I have something to tell you, too.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s about the First War.’

In all their years together, Stephen had never spoken of his war. He began to talk and she listened without interrupting. It was a part of him she hadn’t seen before, steeped in mayhem and blood.