He began to dress, socks first and then his pale creamy shirt. ‘Darling, I am so sorry. There is nothing I can do. My mother is staying with me. I should have had dinner with her tonight. Boy, was she peevish when I said I couldn’t.’ He laughed at the thought, his fingers quickly buttoning small pearly buttons as he spoke. ‘She likes to be cosseted. She wants my full attention when she comes up. God, all the time really. A spoilt woman. Anyway … anywaaay I promised her that I would be back by eleven-thirty. She likes a whiskey and a few words before she goes to bed.’ He put his tie around his neck and leant forward and kissed my cheek. ‘I really hoped that you would understand. I’m sorry, my darling, I should have said this earlier, but I wasn’t sure … I thought you might have shown me the door.’ He knotted the tie and looked past me towards the mirror, shifting his head from side to side to make sure it was neatly centred.

I remember all that quite clearly. His socks were coffee-coloured silk.

‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘Mothers can be such a nuisance.’

The look he gave me was almost grateful. He pulled on his trousers and zipped them up. I picked his shoes up from the floor and handed them to him.

‘Thanks.’

‘How long is your mother staying with you?’

He shrugged.

‘She is a law unto herself, but not to worry. As long as I obey the Cinderella rule we don’t have a problem.’

He took a comb from his pocket and frowned at himself in the mirror as he combed his hair, then he put on his jacket. He turned away from the mirror and took hold of my shoulders.

‘One day you’ll meet her and you can see for yourself how formidable she is. Not just yet, not yet, sweetie. We all need time to work this out.’ He kissed my forehead gently. ‘I think

I’m falling in love with you. I think this may be real. I don’t want Mother in there laying about her. Understand – please do that for me. I must fly. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Give me your mobile number.’

‘Never use the things. Who wants to carry all that trouble round with them? Don’t bother to come to the door.’

He was gone and I was there alone with twelve flickering candles and the clearing up.

Povera donna, sola, abbandonata,

I sang as I carried the plates into the kitchen.

In questo popoloso deserto

Che appellano Parigi.

One of the great things about New York is the fact that every time you turn on a hot tap, hot water comes pouring out, unlike even the best-regulated taps at home. I stood surrounded by steam and let rip.

Che spero or più? Che jar degg’io?

Gioir!