He flicked imaginary ash from his cigarette, trod it carefully into the marble at his feet. ‘Not much. Not really. Don’t work frightfully well if you aren’t somewhere about.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Habit, I suppose. I feel uneasy, can’t seem to settle down to things properly. Finished off the Schönbrunn chapter: made some notes for the next part. Nothing much.’

‘Well, I’m here for the summer.’ She ate the sandwich quickly, smothering a sudden rising fear. ‘Cross fingers anyway. So you can work away happily.’

He looked up suddenly. ‘Why cross fingers? Slipping off again somewhere?’

‘No. No. Of course not. Just a saying. After all, one can never be sure of anything these days, it’s all so fragile. Life, I mean.’

‘Well. We all get older. Inevitable process. I do hate it so.’

‘There is no need to embrace it in headlong flight, Archie dear. Ten years ago you literally ran towards it, I remember. Hurried yourself: made your vows. So silly.’

He shifted uncomfortably, stubbed out the cigarette carefully, got to his feet. ‘We won’t go into that again. I’m glad you’re back safe and sound.’

She finished the wine, held the empty glass between slender fingers, swinging it lightly by the bowl. ‘Yes, safe and sound. And we won’t have a busy summer this year. It’s all a bit too much, you know, for Bruna. She gets awfully fussed now. It is a lot to do – guests, changing sheets, extra meals. She’s getting older too, and no help really now that Maria has left. So you can settle down to work and have a long, happy summer with your Duc de Reichstadt and all his neurotic worries.’

He was standing, hands in his pockets, looking out across the bay towards Villefranche glowing in its concrete sprawl. ‘What will you do, my dear?’ A long quiet summer is something you’d hate. I reckon you’ve asked half the wedding party to stay if I know you.’ He turned towards her with a mild smile. ‘No Cuckoo’s picnic? Impossible!’

She set the glass gently on the little tray, ate the last of the small sandwiches, brushed her lips with a slim finger. ‘No. No picnic. I don’t really feel up to picnics, they do get boring in the end. And anyway everyone is off to Greece now; less spoiled, they say. All the Young, that is … and I don’t really want Harriet and Richard and the family: so I didn’t say a word.’ She got up and joined him, taking his hand, smiling, head on one side. ‘We’ll Darby-and-Joan it, shall we? Glide towards the sunset?’

He laughed softly. ‘You are wicked. I bet you’ve got something up your sleeve. I know you far too well.’

She folded her arm in his, pressed it firmly. ‘You don’t know me at all. After all these many years you still don’t know me, I’m deep as a well … and you have never lowered your bucket down very far.’