Archie snapped his cigarette in two. ‘No … not in the words … perhaps not.’

Grottorosso pushed harder. ‘Are they ever seen to embrace?’

Archie winced. Looked anxiously at the windows.

‘To kiss! To lie together!’

‘No! No!’ cried Archie in despair.

‘It is companionship, not carnality! You have misread, alas! I am distressed beyond all reason that I should have caused you, so inadvertently, such pain. How foolish that I did not think to send you a covering note, just to explain that one must never read the Directions in a script such as this. They are totally misleading and false: they lead to the gravest misunderstandings, as they have done this day. How,’ he said softly, and reaching out a perfectly steady hand, ‘how can I possibly make amends to your sensibilities which I have so clearly wounded deeply? You of all people, you of all. Oh! My shame …’

Archie briskly pulled himself together and tidied up his ashtray. ‘No, don’t fuss … no great harm done. I suppose that I have never read one of these things before, and it rather unnerved me. Quite hard to manage, you know. I can’t quite say that I have “misread” it, but that is how I did read it … lack of experience, I suppose.’

‘One sees things in so many different ways, of course.’ Grottorosso nodded kindly. ‘I remember that good Miss Drew from Warwick always used to say to me, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” – a very true English remark, I would think. We do not all see beauty in the sadness and squalor of life, but it is there, and I am certain that the relationship between l’Aiglon and Prokesch was one of the most intense beauty. Of course the vile Metternich saw it in quite a different light – a political light, I am certain, which is why he finally arranged to have Prokesch sent away to Italy leaving the unhappy Prince alone, helpless, and more truly a prisoner. But he may also have been blind, and seen only ugliness where happiness and beauty existed. But you are the expert after all! Look at all the marvels this room of yours contains! So many relics of the Emperor’s past, so many books, so many papers … so much detail! But when all is said and done, you and I, who are so moved and fascinated by this story of the golden, dying, Prince can only conjecture, isn’t that so? There are no living witnesses to that time, we can only take what we are allowed from documents.. A letter can lie, a letter can be distroyed, mislaid, conveniently overlooked; a diary can lie, history even can lie. What do we know? How can we truly tell, you and I, for we were not there to hold the candle after all.’