I sit beside you and try to still my racing mind. What you say is true. I thought that if I could persuade you to take a house here I would not need to return to England for the winter. Yet the idea that you might be living directly opposite suddenly feels alarming.

“I’m worried that you wouldn’t be happy, that’s all.” I stumble over my words. “Our lives are so different here—we live very simply.”

“Exactly!” Your eyes are shining now.

I force myself to go on.

“I’m not sure it would suit you.”

“Nonsense.” You wave your arm, as if to shoo away an unwelcome fly. “Leonard and I have become far too embroiled in England. It would do us the world of good to get away.”

“It’s just that . . . the things that matter to me—painting, the children—this is the perfect place for them.”

The wine I have drunk at dinner is pulsing through my veins, making me say things I know I will regret. I press on regardless.

“What I mean is . . . your life is very different. You need libraries, people—it doesn’t matter where I am as long as . . .”

“As long as I’m near you.” The pleading in your voice makes it hard for me to rebut you. You edge closer.

“Nessa . . . I honestly don’t think I can stand it if you move here for good. My life in England feels barren—dry—with you gone. You make the world dance.”

To stop my head from reeling, I rest it against your chest.

“Don’t be silly,” I venture, my words half-muffled by your dress, “you’ll manage perfectly well without me! After all,” I add, lifting my head, “with me gone, you can do what you like best.” I plant a kiss on your cheek.

“And what might that be?” you ask.

“Why—you can invent me to your heart’s content.”

Angelica sees it first, pointing excitedly as it flies in through the open window. We fall silent as it circles the room before settling on the lamp in the center of the table. I have never seen such a large specimen.

“Is it a bat?” Angelica wonders in an awed whisper.

Duncan shakes his head.

“It’s a moth,” he tells her, “an emperor, I should guess, from its size.”

“Why does it keep going round and round the lamp?” Angelica’s whisper is louder now.

“It’s attracted to the light,” you inform her. “It thinks it can get inside.”

I gaze at the moth for a moment, then stand up and close the window. Angelica hisses at me.

“Don’t do that. It won’t be able to get out.”

I ignore her disgruntled frown.

“Can you get your butterfly net from the hall? Let’s try and catch it for Julian’s collection.”