Domenica tried to smile. ‘I’m sure that he doesn’t mind too much. And I’m sure that Antonia will pay him some attention if he feels left out. She is, after all, quite willing to include him in things.’

It was the first of a number of attempts to flush out some mention of the Italian trip; Cyril was included in that, as Antonia herself had revealed.

Angus appeared to ignore the remark. ‘He’ll be all right. He knows that I’m in here and that I can’t go anywhere without walking past him. Dogs are always worried that their owners will leave them.’

‘To go on holiday, for example,’ said Domenica quickly.

Angus nodded. ‘Maybe.’

Domenica led the way into the kitchen. ‘Would you ever take Cyril on holiday with you?’ she asked. It was an innocent question, posed casually.

‘He’d like it,’ said Angus. ‘Dogs love to be involved.’

‘And of course now they have these pet passports, don’t they?’ said Domenica. ‘There used to be such a fuss about rabies and quarantine. Now they can have their injections and go off with their owners. France, Germany, Italy … The world is a dog’s oyster nowadays, or bone perhaps.’

Standing in the kitchen, Angus looked out of the window over the rooftops on the other side of Scotland Street. ‘Are you looking forward to Italy?’ he asked suddenly.

For a moment Domenica said nothing. Angus turned round and smiled at her. She noticed his eyes; they were so clear, the colour one imagines to be that of the eyes of those born in high, northern places. He was smiling – wryly. ‘You’re very transparent, you know,’ he said. ‘All this business of taking Cyril on holiday and so on. Utterly transparent!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Come on, Domenica! Italy. Antonia. We both know what you’re driving at. So let me set your mind at rest: yes, she asked me. And my first reaction, naturally, was that I wouldn’t dream of going off with her. Not after that business of the blue Spode teacup. It would be an appallingly disloyal act. So I said no, and then she said that I could bring Cyril. I still said no, but then I thought: what if I say I shall only go if you ask Domenica? So that’s what I said.’

Domenica thought: you wonderful, loveable man. And there I was thinking ill of you, and all the time you were on my side.

‘What did she say?’

‘She looked a bit put out, but then she came round.’

Domenica looked down at the floor. She felt ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought that you and she might be …’ She broke off.

‘Us?’ exclaimed Angus. ‘She and I? Oh, really, Domenica!’

‘She’s such a man-eater, you see. That Pole. That other man. That twenty-year-old, barely out of short trousers.’

‘Tsk, tsk!’

‘Exactement.’