Leo, recovering himself with effort, had introduced Romy and she’d seen the younger woman’s gaze flick up and down in an uncomfortably appraising manner. Then Anezka came towards her and wrapped her in her arms. ‘I am so happy to meet you at last,’ she said, with such genuine warmth that Romy almost burst into tears, the strains of the morning finally overwhelming her in the face of this unexpected kindness.

Anezka drew back, her huge eyes also glistening. Then she turned to the bed and took a deep breath as she stared down at the man she loved, tentatively laying a hand on his forehead, her own creased in concern. It was obvious to Romy that she’d had little experience of illness and that it frightened her.

‘Michael.’ She bent close to him. ‘Milácˇku … can you hear me?’

Michael opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. He had been in and out of consciousness but so far had not said anything coherent to Romy or Leo. Now, however, he spoke, his words slow and very slurred.

‘Annie … what is … what …’ His eyes closed, but Romy saw him clinging to Anezka with his right hand. His left flopped uselessly on the sheet, grey and lifeless, like a dead fish. His eyes opened again and he almost smiled, although the left side of his face drooped severely, giving his expression an almost piratical air. ‘So tired,’ he added, then closed his eyes again, his grip loosening.

Anezka looked triumphantly at Leo, then Romy. ‘He’s talking! A good sign, no?’ She sank onto the chair Leo had vacated and put her hands over her face. ‘I thought he was dead and you weren’t telling me,’ she said, and began to cry softly behind her long fingers.

Romy had suffered a painful stab of jealousy when she first saw Anezka, but she found her heart going out to the woman. Was the row serious? she wondered. Has she really dumped Michael? If he recovered – and there was no guarantee he would – it would be a long road until he was fit again.

She remembered the last time Michael had been in hospital during their marriage, and that was only A&E, nearly fifteen years ago now. He had stood on a rusty nail in the Sussex garden and the wound became infected, his whole foot swelling to twice its normal size so he couldn’t walk. He’d behaved like a bear with at least two sore heads until the swelling went down. He would not be an easy patient.

Now she got out of bed and went through to the kitchen, switched on the familiar kettle, got out one of her favourite mugs with a blue and white flower pattern and made herself a cup of tea. She half expected her husband to pop his head round the door on his way to work, but the flat was eerily silent.