A waterfall of lace flowed over the table. There was a square missing from it in one corner but, otherwise, its colour was still pure and the silk netting, with a border of lace flowers, intact.

Lucia watched Laure’s reaction. ‘It’s different in your country? Yes?’

Laure touched the lace which felt like honeycomb on silk. ‘A bride often wears a veil but not many would have one as beautiful as this.’

‘You don’t like what I did. Cutting it?’

Laure spoke before thinking. ‘No,’ and hastily amended, ‘but it’s none of my business.’

Laure frowned. ‘Of course, you would not understand. How could you? In your country, you can keep things, I think, even if they are old. But not here. We have to sacrifice precious things for the greater good.’

‘I see.’ Laure did not ask where on the spectrum of the ‘greater good’ the desecration of beautiful lace figured. Then, she felt ashamed at her failure to understand.

Lovingly, reverently, Lucia traced the shape of one of the flowers. ‘You don’t see because you’re a stranger. The marionettes mean a lot to our culture. More so than you could ever know.’

Lucia was being insulting but Laure decided to let it ride.

Lucia picked up the veil and pulled it over her head. ‘The veil doesn’t mind if it is cut. What we do here is more important.’ It sounded as if Lucia was warming up to a battle speech. ‘If we don’t have our stories, then we’re finished. This theatre is important.’

‘The marionettes send messages?’

The silken shroud masked Lucia’s features but could not disguise her eyes glittering with hostility. Or the touch of fear. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m curious.’

‘You shouldn’t ask those questions.’ The words were so viscously articulated that Laure took a step back. ‘Don’t you know that you should never ask questions here.’ Laure shook her head. ‘It’s only ignorant, stupid foreigners who do.’

‘For St Nicholas’s sake, we need help.’ Milos appeared and vanished.

‘Why don’t you go back to England? It would be better for everyone. You are… how do you say? A nuisance.’

‘My employers wish me to stay.’

‘Ah. And you will, I think.’ Lucia was stopped in her tracks. ‘Don’t imagine that you will have Tomas.’

‘Isn’t that for him to decide?’

‘You know,’ said Lucia, ‘you’re nothing special. Any man here who can gets himself a girlfriend from the West. It’s the thing to do.’

A cold feeling enveloped Laure. ‘And?’

Lucia pulled off the veil, folded it and laid it in its box. She seemed to be deciding what to say, or to do. ‘Next year, I’ll wear this.’

‘You’re getting married?’

‘Yes, and yes.’ Lucia stuck her face into Laure’s and enunciated slowly. ‘We’ll be getting married. With a big ceremony and all the family.’