“Only your hat,” he says, leading me over to where he has the easel set up. I see now that there is a canvas in place and a chair positioned just so on the other side of it. Had he really been so sure I would agree to sit? He already knows me better than I know myself.

You know that he does not, Lilith. He cannot!

The voice is so unexpected that this time it makes me jump.

“Lilith, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing. I … thought I saw a mouse. Over there,” I tell him, sitting on the worn wooden chair and allowing him to turn my face fractionally to one side.

“There,” he says, “that is perfect. There is not much light this time of year, but what there is now falls directly onto one side of your exquisite face, my love. Your hair, though.” He frowns. “It should be loose. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” I say, reaching up to take it down from the high bun into which it is coiled.

“Please … let me.” One by one, with great tenderness, he removes the hairpins. Slowly. Carefully. Allowing each lock of hair to fall naturally onto my shoulders. Such an intimate action, such gentleness, should be blissful, but I am still tense, alert, waiting for the Dark Spirit to speak again, so that the moment is quite spoiled.

When he has finished his task Bram stands back to look at me. “Now,” he asks, “are you comfortable? Can you hold this pose, do you think?”

“Quite comfortable,” I assure him, though I find I am stupidly anxious. The unwanted spirit is still with me. I can sense him watching. Listening. Ready to remind me of the fact that Bram does not know, cannot know, that the woman he adores, the woman he has lost his heart to, the woman who now sits before him, holds such strange and powerful secrets. I do my best not to let my anxiety show, but Bram is not so easily fooled. He is, it seems, attuned to my own moods and cannot help but see that something is troubling me deeply.

“Darling, please tell me what it is.”

“I … cannot.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t you recall what I told you? Nothing you can tell me about yourself would alter my feelings for you. You must surely believe that now. Do you doubt me, is that it?”

“No. No, it’s not that.”

“Is it…” he hesitates, and then goes on, “is it something to do with your fiancé? Breaking off the engagement will not be easy, I know…”

“It’s not about Louis.”

“Then what?” He takes my hands in his and feels them tremble. “How can I help you if you will not talk to me?”