“It was an arrangement based solely on his passion for me. And when that was spent, so was his patronage. Is there any other reason for such things to end?” Amara sips the wine. Something about Demetrius’s coldness soothes her. “His family’s desire for him to marry also played a part.”

“Did you love him?”

“Do you love the woman who serves you as a concubine in Rome?” Amara stares, so he can be in no doubt she is subjecting him to the same scrutiny he has applied to her.

“I am grateful to her. And my gratitude now takes the form of a pension, for all the years she served me in the past.” He swirls the wine in his glass. “But you avoided my question.”

“Because I think you are quite intelligent enough to work out the answer for yourself.”

Demetrius snorts. “A politician’s answer.” He gestures at her to sit beside him. “Come here.” It is only a few steps from one couch to another, but Amara is in no doubt about the line she is crossing. Her movements are fluid, betraying no sign of hesitation. She has banked up her grief and guilt, forcing them to a distance, behind a wall of ice. She will feel everything later. Demetrius rests his hand upon her thigh, warm and heavy. “I don’t propose an arrangement like your last, based on absurd romantic expectations. But you intrigue me, Plinia Amara. I should like to see if we might suit one another. I suggest you come with me to Stabiae for a few weeks, and if we please each other, I will take you to Rome. If not, you may return to your life in Pompeii.”

“What about my daughter?” Amara asks the question calmly, because the thought of leaving Rufina, of what that will truly mean, is a pain she has not even begun to comprehend.

“I am happy to cover the rent, the cost of a wet nurse, everything, to ensure she is cared for here in your absence. Julia tells me you have a reliable steward. We can pay him whatever you believe is required.” Demetrius moves a curl of her hair, tucking it behind her ear so he can see her better. “Believe me, whatever sum you name, will be a trifle.”

Amara knows this is not a compliment on her worth, but a statement of his wealth. “And will I be allowed to see her?”

“If we decide to enter an arrangement, then I’m sure I can spare you a month or so each year to see her and set any affairs you have here in order.” She stares at the floor, conscious of him watching her, able to see every expression. “I can give you until tomorrow to consider my proposal, if that is necessary.”