'I suppose you are going to say you don't know what came over you. That it was all the fault of the . . . of the drugs,' I said stiffly.

'No. I wasn't going to say that at all,' she said sadly. She did not look at me. I could not have stood that. It was too crude a weapon for her to use, however effective it would have been.

'I had hoped you would have understood,' she said when it became clear I was not going to say anything at all. 'But you don't.'

'No.'

Now she did look at me, but not in the way she had done the night before. This time her gaze seemed wholly innocent and regretful. Still I did not dare meet it.

'You poor young man,' she continued. 'Does it sound condescending if I say that?'

'Of course it does.'

'It isn't. It is merely the truth. Shall I speak plainly, then? In an unladylike way? Shock you some more with the way I talk of subjects which you think I should be too refined to mention? I have seen the look on your face, you know. There is little you can hide from me, however skilled you may think yourself.'

I suppose I must have glowered at her, as eventually she continued.

'At the moment you are confused and angry. You wished to make love to me; I encouraged you then capriciously changed my mind. You thought you knew what was going on inside me, but in fact you understood nothing at all. Otherwise you would realise I was trying to protect you.'

'I do not need to be protected by you.' I said stiffly.

'Not by me. From me,' she corrected. 'Look at you. One small misunderstanding and you are a wreck. You have been obsessed with me all night. You haven't slept. You look like a tramp. Do you know how easy it would be to ruin you utterly?'

'I don't think—'

'That's because you do not know what you are talking about.' There was a long break as the maid came in with another tray of coffee. Elizabeth thanked the woman, and watched as the coffee was poured, talking to her as she waited. I, in contrast, said nothing at all, acutely aware that I was radiating misery from my chair. Eventually the maid left, and the door was shut. Elizabeth sipped her cup thoughtfully for a while, then put it down.

'Do you not think it strange that a widow, grieving for her recently lost husband, should behave in such a way? Or did you merely think that foreigners must be like that? Not at all proper like the English?

'I am angry, Matthew. And frightened. And last night I wished to take it out on someone. As I say, I am ashamed of myself. But not for any reason you might have imagined.'

'What do you mean?'

'John died in the stupidest way imaginable. He was careless, thoughtless. His moment of absent-mindedness means I have to spend the rest of my life without him. Obviously I knew that would happen eventually. He was much older than I was. But I wanted more time with him. The only person in the world I have ever truly cared for. Ever. I had a debt to repay. He fell out of a window and robbed me of my chance. I wanted to punish him, but I can't, of course. So I thought I'd pick on you.'

She stopped, and I opened my mouth to reply but realised I didn't know what to say.

'It's very easy. A glance here, a suggestive movement. A provocative question. And your sleep evaporates and you take on that look of tail-wagging devotion that I detest so much. John was dead, but I could easily replace him, although not with someone half as good as he was.

'Please don't think I thought all this through, that I was simply playing with your affections. I didn't know what I was doing. And then last night I came to my senses. Only just, though. Do you really think it would have been better had I allowed you to make love to me? It would only have postponed the rejection, and made it ten times worse when it came. It was vain and cruel of me. I apologise for that without reservation. But I do not apologise for saving you from the consequences of your naïveté. You are no match for me, Matthew. Only John has ever been that.'

'You have a high opinion of yourself.'

'No,' she said sadly. 'A very low one.'

'I don't understand a word you are talking about.'

'I suppose you don't. One day, when you are as old as I am . . .'

'You are beautiful.' The words rushed out of me; they sounded stupid.

She smiled. 'Once that would have pleased me,' she said. 'Words like that, truly meant, were like gold to me when I was young. Now I no longer care.'

'You loved him?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Very much.'

'Why?'

She sighed and looked across the square, at all those people whose lives were nothing like her own. She seemed almost interested in them.

'He was my comfort, my friend, my warmth. The fixed point of a turning world, always there.' She stopped and looked at me, almost mischievously. 'I have had lovers, you know, in the past decade or so. I do hope I have managed to shock you again.'

'I'm learning,' I replied.

'But I have never loved anyone else. Do you understand the difference?'

'I have had neither the money or the leisure to explore such subtleties.'

'Censorious. Well, perhaps you are right. But there is a big difference. I hope you discover what it is, one day. Because you will never truly love someone until you do.'

She fell silent again, a look of terrible sadness on her face. 'Do you believe me when I say I want you to find this child? Or do you think there is some other motive behind it?'

'I really don't know any more.'

'I do want it. When John died, it was a terrible shock. I suppose I still am in shock. I have lost him for ever. But when I read the will, do you know what my reaction was? Anger? Shame? Disillusionment?'

'Maybe. All of them?'

'None of them. I was happy. There was a piece of him still alive, somewhere. I dreamed of finding this child – I imagined a ten-year-old boy sometimes, sometimes a young woman about the same age as I was when I met John. I hoped there were many children, even. Getting to know them, bringing them to live with me. Having a family in this world. Because I have nothing now. Nothing of importance, just wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. It is all John's fault, you see.'

I looked puzzled.

'He taught me the pleasures of love and companionship, of trusting people and knowing them. Before that, when I was young, it was all just a game. Who you knew, how you made your way in the world. There was no time or space for real warmth. John gave me a world of affection, and I fell in love with that as much as I fell in love with him. Do you know the pleasure of doing nothing with someone, of simply sitting in the same room with them? Or of going for a walk where neither talks? He taught me that and now it is all gone. And the world is my reality again. I am frightened and alone, Matthew, more than a man like you can even imagine.'

'And you never had children?'

She shook her head gently. 'I fell pregnant, a year or so after we married. I was so happy, I couldn't believe it. I used to just sit and clutch myself, and cry with the joy of it. I thought my life would be complete.'

'What happened?.'

'It was born and they took it away from me.' She shook her head. 'The midwife wrapped it up, put it by the fire to keep it warm, and sat around to keep it company until it died. They didn't let me see it again. It's what they do, did you know that?'

I said nothing.

'The doctors told me that I couldn't have any more. That another pregnancy might kill me. So,' she said brightly, her eyes shining, 'that was my chance, you see. It took years to recover fully. John stayed with me every moment, every second, brought me back to myself. As close as I could get, anyway. I lost my dreams then and they never came back.'

'I will find this child for you,' I said. 'If it lives.'

'Do you doubt it?'

'Many children die young,' I said.