Amara follows the girl, Victoria tripping eagerly ahead. It is impossible not to picture Dido’s slighter form replacing Victoria’s voluptuous one. Only a year ago, Amara and Dido visited a clothes shop in Pompeii for the first time. She remembers Dido’s amazement at the transparent silver silk. It’s like wearing a cobweb.

The girl leads them both to a small, white room, decorated with a series of painted cupids. An interior window high up on the wall must open onto the atrium of the grand house that owns the shop space, although Amara cannot see anything through it but the rafters. She finds herself thinking of Philos again, wonders if right now he is working in a room like this.

Victoria stands hovering near the shop assistant. The girl is leafing through a wooden frame that looks like a book of giant wax tablets, only silk has replaced the dull yellow of the pages. “They vary in price,” she says. “Cheapest at the front. The best at the back.”

“We’ll see your cheapest material for two dresses and a range of silks for a third. But nothing too pricey.” Amara glances at Victoria who nods in agreement. They have already discussed the money. Every penny Victoria makes will help pay the debt to Felix. Only when that is finally cleared will she keep her own earnings, with a small cut to Amara as rent. For now, her choice of clothes is limited.

Amara quickly chooses some silk for Phoebe and Lais, the cheapest on offer, and two of the plainest pins. Victoria, however, is in no mood to rush. The shop girl has brought her five different silks and she savors each one in turn, touching the fabric with the reverence of a priest handling offerings at sacrifice. Victoria lifts her arms and the material clings to her body, revealing and burnishing her nakedness. Amara smiles. She knows how much Victoria loves clothes, remembers the hours Victoria spent at the brothel regaling everyone with tales of the finery she would buy if she were rich. But when Victoria tries on the last, a translucent, shimmering green, Amara realizes with surprise that Victoria’s eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“What is it?” she whispers, pulling her aside, so that the curious shop girl cannot hear.

“It’s so beautiful,” Victoria whispers, her voice trembling. “And he’ll never get to see me this way or tell me how lovely I look.” She scrunches up her face, reminding Amara of Drusilla’s son Primus when he is trying not to cry. “I miss him so much. Sometimes, I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again.”

Amara puts an arm around her. “You’ll find somebody else,” she murmurs, her cheek pressed to Victoria’s. “I promise you.”

“He’s the only man I’ve ever loved,” Victoria says. “There’s nobody else like him.”