I am old now. My fingers are twisted with arthritis. I look at my hand and try to remember it as it was, the skin smooth and unlined, the knuckles plump with flesh. Now, I would find it beautiful. Now I would recognize its sensuous aliveness. At the time I could not. To be told, so repeatedly and matter-of-factly, that one was attractive, as if it was a duty, as if it came with heavy penalties attached, stalled any burgeoning pride I might have had in my own potency. It is little wonder that we felt comfortable with Thoby’s friends, the buggers, as you so roguishly called them. To them our appearance was neither an invitation nor a challenge. Taking their cue from Thoby they disregarded it, extending the permissive hand of friendship beyond the masks of our gender. Their approval ushered parts of us into being that had nothing to do with sex.

That is not entirely true. There was something else that came into play during those late-night discussions, a surfacing, a glimmering, like the first pink flush of sun spreading its beams over the horizon. I had seen the dawning before, when Stella married Jack. Now it was happening to me.

I am lying on the sofa with a length of silk draped over one arm. It is a remnant from a dress I have been making. The material is a startling cherry red and so beautiful I cannot bring myself to discard it. I try the silk round my shoulders, then wind it like a turban round my hair. You are sitting at the table by the window, writing. I can hear the rasp of your nib on the paper. I think of our conversation the previous evening. Lytton’s voice trilled and faltered as he talked about love, and when I looked up from my sewing I found Clive staring at me intently. His eyes held mine for a moment, and I felt a sudden, dizzying exhilaration, like seeing a Tintoretto for the first time. I close my eyes to recapture the sensation, and when I open them again I am struck by my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. With my head swathed in silk I look like an empress, majestic, supreme, reclining on her couch. I have one arm crooked behind my neck, and the angle amplifies the curve of my shoulders and breasts. I am voluptuous, a love goddess, carnal and bold.