‘So?’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘A little kiss, nothing. She looked rather, I don’t know … a bit sad. Lost. I just felt I wanted to; I don’t know why.’

‘Perhaps you … do you think she is attractive?’

‘Cuckoo?’ He leant back on his elbows, looked up to the ceiling. ‘Yes. Yes, I think she is … well, was. Was … still is. Yes. If you want an answer to that. Yes.’

‘I wondered. Would you sleep with her? I mean if she asked you?’

‘What is all this? Have you really gone dotty all of a sudden?’

‘But would you?’

‘I don’t know. Leni! I don’t know … never even thought about it.’

‘Never?’

‘No. Never. What a daft thing to say.’

‘I only asked. She’s old, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘Older than my mother even.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Grandmother. Older than her.’ She drew her legs tightly towards her chest, wrapped her arms round her shins. Dry-lipped at the slip.

‘Look, if you have any idea that I’m going to skip off and screw Cuckoo Peverill behind your back, put the thought out of your idiot mind. I wouldn’t. And it’s nothing to do with her age. I just wouldn’t.’

‘But you could fancy her? Younger men do, you know– older women, it’s quite usual.’

‘I could, yes. Why not? What on earth is all this?’

‘It’s just the look she gave you. Standing there very still. Hardly to breathe. Her eyes were so wide, so full, light … as blue as you can’t believe. And suddenly I knew that she was in love with you. Quick as that.’ She uncurled herself and lay across towards him, her hand reaching for his. ‘I’m not surprised. I’m not: really. But I am sad for her. Suddenly she was so very young; for an instant, I could see the woman she had been. In her eyes.’

‘You know,’ he said and lay flat on his back holding her hand. ‘You know, you are unreal?’

She nodded. ‘I know. That’s why you love me to death, isn’t it? Because I am unreal, say so?’

‘I’ve said so.’

‘That you love me because I am.’

‘I love you because you are.’

‘Good. I am unreal but I am real. All unreal things are real. Did you know?’

‘I never know what is in your mind, do I?’

She shook her head, smiling at him. ‘No.’ The Wall cutting through the orchard, the apple-tree tops like old brushes, Langerdorf’s cigar glowing as it came towards me on the terrace, Mamma’s pale eyes, standing in the doorway. ‘The truth is often much too harsh to face.’ She lay back, resting her head on his chest.

‘From here I can just see that funny thing in your throat, then your chin, and then right up your nose.’ And Cuckoo’s eyes. Wide, clear, young; an instant only.