One or two cafes were shutting up shop. The smell of summer water filtered up from the river as Tomas kissed her, resting his hand on her breast. Astonished by the power of her response, she pressed herself against his narrow torso.

She felt… she felt… what? Very gently, Tomas smoothed one of her eyelids with his thumb and murmured something in Czech. Her flesh was on fire and she knew that she had got herself into something which was political and sexual and very complicated – and her heart sang at the idea.

On the way back to the Kobes’ apartment, Tomas asked if she had a bank account in England and did it work. It did, she replied and described Brympton’s high-street bank flanked by potted geraniums and its women tellers behind the counter who wore white blouses and eye-poppingly bright lipstick.

‘Nobody watches you when you go in?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You could put in money, or take it out, and no one would ask questions?’

‘In general, no, it’s absolutely private. Why do you want to know?’

‘Am I asking too many questions?’

‘No.’

He reached for her hand. ‘Be wary, sweet Laure. I could be an informer.’

She gave an uneasy laugh. ‘I didn’t imagine for one second that you were.’

Tomas laughed too. ‘You have just demonstrated that you’re not a Czech.’

‘Or Slovak?

‘Slovaks are Slovaks.’ He came to a halt. ‘Look at me, Laure. What do you see?’

‘Someone who ate half my dinner.’

All those months ago, desiring Rob Dance was to be permanently ravenous, but the sensations she experienced then were as nothing to the ones that consumed her now.

Tomas’s hands hovered over her shoulders as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her. ‘Do you believe what you see?’

‘Must I?’ Did she trust her own responses? ‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘How old are you, Tomas?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

He looked and seemed older.

‘You?

‘Twenty.’

He smiled and moved closer. She inhaled tobacco and fresh male sweat and her heart leapt and her senses flamed.

It was at the close of an early evening performance when Tomas next turned up at the theatre.

In the interim, Laure had thought about him ceaselessly – which made her impatient with herself as she didn’t want to be at the mercy of her feelings. She didn’t want to be watching out for Tomas like a lovesick teenager. Or to have every nerve ending stand up whenever he was around. She didn’t wish to spend her free time cataloguing every physical characteristic in excruciating detail. Hair, hands, turn of the foot.

Or his mouth which was so expressive and frequently smiling. At her.