Taking a basket, Edith walked down to the stream by the orchard. The air was heady with lilac blossom and she had filled her basket with enough blooms to decorate the table when a figure in a tall top hat appeared on the other side of the stream. In the golden light of the early evening she remembered how once Demetrius had stood waiting for her there.

She jumped when the man called to her.

‘I’m looking for the storyteller.’

‘I’m the storyteller’s granddaughter,’ she said. ‘I’m Edith.’

‘My name is Zamfir. I own the circus,’ he said. ‘Is the storyteller here? One of my artists has broken her wrist and without someone else to entertain the crowd, we’ll be off the road for longer than I can afford.’ He looked at the lilac blossom. ‘What are you celebrating?’

‘A betrothal,’ said Edith.

‘Are you to be married?’

She laughed. ‘No. I’m to tell a story. My grandmother was the storyteller – she told me about your circus. She died over five years ago.’

Zamfir said nothing but nodded.

‘You’re welcome to come tonight,’ said Edith. ‘I will be telling one of her stories.’ The circus owner tipped his hat. ‘The house is up there,’ she added, turning from him to point to it.

When she looked back he was gone.

Lena was brushing her hair before the guests arrived when Edith brought her the clothes that she’d embroidered for her own wedding.

‘These are for you,’ said Edith. ‘A wedding present.’

‘You can’t give them to me,’ said Lena. ‘They’re for your wedding.’

Edith said nothing but helped Lena to dress.

‘You’re leaving, I know you are,’ said Lena. ‘That’s why you’ve given me these. Don’t go, please.’

‘I can’t stay,’ said Edith. ‘I couldn’t stay here without being married and I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love. You should understand that. I haven’t told Misha, but I’ve left a letter for you both. If you want to, you can live here. Misha would have the workshop and could make a decent living.’

Lena put her arms round Edith. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Not a word to Misha. Can you do that?’

‘You kept my secret. What you ask is such a small thing.’ She sniffed. ‘You will write, won’t you?’

‘Don’t cry,’ said Edith. ‘Goodness knows what misfortune befalls a bride who cries at her betrothal supper.’

Twenty people came to the supper. The mayor came and raised a glass to new beginnings. Even Lena’s mother came. And near the end of the meal, three musicians appeared on the verandah.

‘Zamfir sent us to play for you,’ said the tall man with the cello. ‘He said you’re going to tell a story.’

Lena’s mother said, ‘That’s the only reason I came – to hear a story.’