‘What are you doing?’ Whatever her mind told her to say, her body was relaxed, at ease. His fingers now stroking her breast, a fluttering of goosebumps gave a thrilling shiver. He gently removed his hand. She felt relief and disappointment.

He raised his head over hers, looking down on her. ‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he said. ‘I have never seen a beauty like yours.’ She frowned and shook her head at him. ‘I mean it.’

He cradled her head in his arm and moved their faces closer together. He kissed her, his tongue travelling around her mouth and teeth in a way she had never imagined. She reacted unsurely and he drew back. ‘Have you kissed a man like this before?’

‘No.’

‘It is good, yes.’

‘Yes, it’s good.’ She turned her face. ‘But we shouldn’t.’

‘Do you not love me, Sara?’

She gazed into his eyes, so close that they seemed to go in and out of focus. ‘I think so, yes.’

‘Love, yes. I believe this is our love. It is all right, we will do nothing you do not want to.’ He looked deeply into her, with the gentlest of smiles. ‘But does it not mean the time has come when we must know each other properly?’ His hand moved more eagerly down to her trouser belt and she felt him undoing her buckle. She wanted to say no but her throat was dry; words wouldn’t come out. Her belt opened and he pulled down the zip of her jeans, his fingers creeping beneath her pants.

‘No,’ she gasped, ‘this is wrong.’ Among the forces assailing her, an intruder sneaked in: fear. She hoped he saw her fright because then he would know he must stop.

‘Allow a man to judge what is right and what is wrong,’ he said. ‘We will do no more than we should.’ He straightened, now seeming to tower over her. ‘Let me just see you. All of you.’ She was feeble, woozy, her mind felt separate from her limp body. She closed her eyes – trying to ignore what was happening. She felt his hands slide her jeans down; a breeze passed between her sweating legs. He removed her boots and socks and slid the jeans over ankles and feet. She put a hand on her pants, but still lay inert, eyes closed.

‘Your skin seems so pale,’ he said.

‘My English mother,’ she murmured.

‘You never told me that.’

She breathed softly, his voice echoing, her sleepiness overwhelming.

‘Perhaps this explains why there is something so special about you.’ He eased away from her and she heard tiny, muted sounds of undressing, a zip opening and a brushing of clothes. She half-opened her eyes; he was crouched over her, his shirt still on but trousers and pants down to his knees. She saw the pinkness large and straight.

‘We mustn’t,’ she whimpered.