She held his arm, with two hands, gazing around, smiling at the people drifting back towards the house, each of them pausing to squeeze her hand, or blow her kisses.

‘What a beautiful night,’ she said flatly.

‘It was. I’m so sorry.’

‘God,’ she said. She put on her dark glasses.

‘Cool look,’ said Dan, with stilted levity.

It worked. She was laughing again. ‘Come on inside with me,’ she said.

‘I’ll walk you in.’

‘Your generation of men are so good at feelings. So kind. So lovely.’

‘I was brought up by my mother. Had to be.’

They started in, arm in arm.

‘Just a moment,’ said Liv.

Gripping his hand, for balance, she took off her dark glasses again, and looked up at the sky.

‘You can’t see stars in London,’ she said mournfully. ‘Even here. What’s that line, in the poem about the stars? Doubt the stars are made of fire? Doubt something-something, But never doubt I love. I don’t know.’

‘Sorry,’ said Dan, ‘can’t help you.’

‘I can’t remember it. Alex would. It was one of the first poems he learned. I loved him, Dan. And he loved me.’

Someone passed, and squeezed her hand. ‘See you inside,’ said Liv.

‘I’m sure he knew, how much you loved him,’ said Dan.

‘He did,’ she said. She brought her gaze from the sky above, down, to his face. ‘People don’t understand purity. They want to destroy it.’

She was looking at him fiercely. Her grief was monstrous.

A very short man with a bow tie and a bald head stepped in front of her. He had a cigar and was in his seventies, his deeply tanned face was frozen-looking, smooth and plump, and fixed in a grin, with ice-white tombstone teeth and liver spots.

‘My darling girl!’ he shouted in an accent – Italian, possibly. The neck beneath his stiff face hung in folds and wrinkles, with a last little flap above his tight collar.

He and Liv clasped one another’s hands, and Dan, gratefully, said goodnight.

He saw Bea’s packed things the moment he came into the bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, and her backpack and bulging cloth shoulder bag were leaning against the wall.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘What job did my father offer you?’

‘Just a job. In PR. Not for him. Another company.’

‘PR? Dan. What did you say?’

‘I didn’t.’ He gestured her packed things, against the wall. ‘You didn’t think to, maybe, run this by me?’

‘I can’t stay in this house,’ she said. ‘I’ve booked the Eurostar. We can take the train to Beaune, and get a cab to Paligny. If the police say we can go, let’s just go.’

He took off his T-shirt and went into the bathroom. She heard him showering. She didn’t move. He came back in, in one of the towelling robes from the bathroom.