There were no speakers in this place. Manicki was now singing a countrified song far removed from the rock concert. Several of the listeners had closed their eyes and swayed to the melody. Tomas thrust a glass into her hand. ‘Well, Laure who dislikes yellow curtains, if you go and stand by the window, I have some living dangerously to do but I’ll join you later.’

That suited her fine. She squeezed over to the window and leant back against it. Masked by the blackout, the clasp on the shutter dug into her back but it helped her keep a grip on who and where she was. She took a mouthful from the glass and nearly spat it out. It was neat vodka but, after a few more mouthfuls, she had no objection to it at all.

Tomas vaulted up onto the table. His guitar was handed to him and he cradled it. Up there on the table, he looked bigger and older, less frail, his profile sharp, clean and Roman. It was a lesson to her how one’s physical appearance could convey quite different impressions just by being up on a stage.

Tomas nodded to the other two, struck up and all three launched into a wild and pulsing song. Fuddled by the vodka, she listened enraptured. The music thudded through her veins and was matched by an even more primary throb between her legs.

Lust. Pure lust. She had never experienced it in that way.

Closing her eyes, she gave herself to up to novel sensations… of being intensely alive… stripped of fear and shyness. Of being an adventurer in a new world.

Just as quickly, they changed tack. Tomas and Manicki faced other and played a sequence of melodic chords and launched into a folk song. Its melancholy, aching repetitions went down well with the party goers, some of whom looked close to weeping.

God knew how long she remained by the window – by now what she was seeing was filtering through to her in a haze. Much fondling was on display. Bodies were draped over each other, with one man efficiently unbuttoning a girl’s blouse. The music ended and Anatomie slid down from their impromptu stage. Laure’s sodden powers of analysis suggested to her that sex was what people did if they were restricted in their speech, when sensation became expression?

She was pleased with that aperçu. It was good. Profound, even.

Actually…her gaze drifted to the ceiling… actually, she could stay here all night. She was perfectly happy and not at all lonely. It was past eleven o’clock and the noise level had halved and everyone appeared to be whispering.

Tomas materialized. ‘Are you surviving?’

She indicated her glass. ‘That helped.’ To demonstrate the truth of this assertion, she took a gulp. ‘What am I doing here?’

He stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Have you hated it?’