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now?
    He didn’t know how.
    He wouldn’t know where to begin.
    And, promise or no promise, suddenly he couldn’t do this—not to himself and definitely not to her. It was suddenly too hot, the air like poison as the walls of the bistro closed in on him. He knew he had to get outside into the fresh air, into a world where he could disappear and be alone and where she would be safe from him.
    ‘Are you finished?’ he asked, already standing, his voice like gravel as he threw some notes onto the table.
    She blinked up at him in surprise, grabbing her coat as he moved like a dark cloud past her out of the restaurant and into the night.
    It was raining, the lamps along the Seine throwing jagged zigzags of colour sliding along the wet pavement and across the dark water. ‘Raoul,’ she said, as she skipped to keep up with his long stride. ‘What’s wrong? What did I say?’
    ‘It is nothing you have said, nothing you have done.’
    ‘Then, what?’
    ‘It is me, Gabriella.’ It stung like a slap to her face that he had dropped the use of Bella, dropped the endearment. ‘You are better off without me.’
    ‘No, Raoul, how can you say that?’
    ‘Because I know! You were right to decide not to come with me.’
    He hailed a taxi and bundled her and she thought he would follow until he rattled off her address and madeto close the door. She threw out her hand against the door to stop him. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Sending you home. Good bye, Gabriella.’
    She shoved open the door and stood up to him, face to face, the door—and a world, it seemed—between them. ‘No. Not until I know when I will see you again.’
    ‘You do not want to see me again.’
    ‘Don’t tell me what I want!’ There was a spark in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, a hint of rebellion about that sharp chin he hadn’t seen since she was a child. Not that it would do her any good.
    The driver uttered a few impatient words and she turned and let go with a torrent of French of her own before she turned back. ‘I don’t want to wait another twelve years to see you again, and I damn well won’t.’
    ‘Who can say how long it will be?’
    ‘So, what time do you leave? We could still meet for lunch if it’s late enough.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then maybe breakfast at your hotel?’
    ‘That is not possible. I leave mid-morning.’
    ‘Can’t you change it?’
    ‘I told you, I have business to attend to.’
    ‘And it cannot wait?’
    ‘No.’
    Infuriating! He was like a mountain made out of a single piece of solid granite, She could pound her fists against his chest except she knew he would not feel a thing. ‘Then maybe I was too hasty before. Maybe I could come with you after all, even just for a day ortwo. Like you say, the library will not expect me back immediately.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Gabriella, but I was too hasty with my invitation. I should have realised it would not work.’
    ‘But you asked me. Why would you do that? Why would you ask and then change your mind?’
    ‘Because it is pointless! Because I cannot do this—please do not try to make me.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Raoul, you blast into my life after a twelve-year absence and then you disappear before we’ve had a chance to get to know each other again. Can’t you at least offer me something?
    ‘But I am, Bella—I am offering you your freedom. Treasure it.’
    And he turned and strode off into the wet, dark Paris night.
    She watched him go, wishing she could run after him, knowing it would be a mistake. But what had he meant about offering her her freedom? Why should she treasure it?
    Why couldn’t he at least have explained what he meant?
    He dreamed of Katia that night, Katia emerging from the mist with all her grace and long, lithe limbs, her dancer’s eyes and beckoning smile. He dreamed of parties floating on a champagne cloud; he dreamed of laughter, dancing and sex that went long into the night and the following day, and then doing it all again the next.