‘Galina, I beg of you, be reasonable.’ Dubrov was aghast at this new turn of events. ‘You are severely injured. The doctors—’

‘The doctors? Do you think I care about the doctors?’ This woman who had not lifted her head from the pillow since her fall had now propped herself up on her elbow and was — incredibly — sitting up! ‘Send Grisha to me at once, and the masseuse. Chort! I’m as weak as a kitten and no wonder, lying here for two weeks. After Gerdt I shall work with Cecchetti on my port de bras, and if he’s with Diaghilev he must leave him and come to me.’ She had pushed back the sheet, put her long, pale legs to the ground. ‘Ah, to see Masha Repin’s face when she hears of this!’

‘Your back!’ cried Dubrov in desperation, rushing forward, for she was pulling herself up on the arms of the chair, was actually standing!

‘We will no longer discuss my back,’ said Simonova regally. Still needing the support of the chair she showed, however, no signs of serious discomfort. ‘For heaven’s sake, stop fussing, Sasha, and take that stupid stretcher away. How the devil am I supposed to move with it lying there? Now listen, you must immediately send a cable to the Maryinsky to say we accept. And then come back here quickly, because I have had a new idea about the Mad Scene. You know where I bourrée forward and pretend to pick up the flower? Well, I think it would be better if—’ She broke off, her charcoal eyes now focused on Harriet. ‘Ha!’ she said. ‘Those shoes I gave you yesterday — there is a lot of wear in them still and they are perfectly broken in. Go and get them, please. At once!’

It had already been dark for some time when Harriet made her way quietly up the avenue of jacaranda trees towards the house.

Saying goodbye to her friends had been hard, but she was home and had been really brave living without Rom for nearly two whole days, but now needed to be brave no longer. For as she walked past the acacia with the flycatcher’s nest which Rom had shown her on that first day, crossed the bridge over the igarape, she felt not only the intense joy of the coming reunion but for the first time some confidence in the future. Rom had been so certain that he did not want her to return with the Company, and there had been no further talk of Stavely. There were probably weeks still to be with him, even months — and perhaps the journey back to England. Surely one did not say, ‘Mon seul désir’ in quite that way to a person one intended to part from soon.

What’s more, she had saved at least two extra hours to be with him. Dubrov had insisted on getting the Company aboard early to avoid Simonova exciting herself any further and — coming off the ship after her farewells — Harriet found herself hailed by the Raimondo brothers aboard their rackety launch and offered a lift to São Gabriel. She knew the brothers, knew the speed of the Santa Domingo. It had taken her only a few minutes to scribble a note to Furo, due to meet her at the Casa Branca at eight, and despatch it by a seraphic-looking urchin. Then she had been aboard.

She was approaching the first of the terraces. Light streamed from the downstairs windows of the house and from one window which she had not seen lit up before. Moving quietly, but hurrying now — already in her imagination stretching out her hands to Rom — she began to climb the steps.

Something was standing by the balustrade: a small white shape half-hidden by a stone urn filled with tobacco flowers. Not one of Rom’s tame creatures… A little wraith? A ghost?

Then the wraith gave a squeak of purest joy and ran down the steps into her arms.

‘Henry! Oh, Henry — I don’t believe it!’

‘It’s honestly me, though!’

They clung to each other, as overjoyed to be together as if they had been lifelong companions instead of having met once in an English garden.

‘I knew you would come before I went to sleep; I just knew,’ said Henry, his arms tightening around her neck. ‘I wanted to see you so much!’

‘And I you, Henry!’ She had been right to love him; there was nothing else to do with this child. ‘Only how did you get here? I had no idea—’ They had moved a little, so that the light of the terrace lantern was on his face. ‘Are you all right, Henry?’ she asked, startled. ‘You haven’t been ill?’

‘I had the measles, but I’m all right now. We came this morning and a nice man called Miguel brought us here in a little boat and I saw an alligator right close to, truly I did, and everything is absolutely marvellous, Harriet, and it’s all because of you.’

‘Why me, Henry?’ She drank in his soapy smell, put a hand on his ruffled hair. Soon it would come, the next bit, but she had a few moments still to relish his presence and his happiness.

‘Because you found him — the “secret boy” — you told him about us and that we needed him. He knew all about Stavely and it was because of you, he told me. And Harriet, he’s bought it — bought Stavely, did you know?’

‘No.’

‘You can do that,’ explained Henry. ‘You can buy places without being there. You send a cable and it goes snaking out along a tube at the bottom of the sea — and then the bank gives people money and you buy their houses. He did it just as soon as you told him about us, and it’s because of you that someone else didn’t buy it first. I told Mummy you’d find him; I told her!’

‘She’s here then, your mother?’ asked Harriet, noting her own idiocy. Where else would she be, the mother of such a child? The pain was beginning now — not unendurable yet… just mustering.

‘Yes! And she’s so happy! She hasn’t been cross all day — well, only when I asked Uncle Rom a lot of questions, but he said I had a refreshing mind.’ Henry paused and beamed up at her. The discovery that he had a refreshing mind had set the seal on this joyous and successful day. ‘He’s so nice, isn’t he — Uncle Rom? He’s just right for a “secret boy”, even though he’s grownup. I thought uncles might be… well, you know, uncles… but he isn’t. He showed me the manatees and some poisoned arrows he got from an Indian and the coati took a nut from my hand.’ His attention caught by something in her expression, he said anxiously, ‘You do like him too, don’t you, Harriet?’

‘Yes, Henry. I like him very much.’

‘Because he likes you a lot. He said we had a… mutual friend and that was you. And, Harriet, he told me all the things he’s going to do at Stavely. He’s going to make a tree-house, only not in the Wellingtonia because it’s too high; not that I’d be frightened, but it’s not convenient for it to be so high. And he’s going to get a huge dog — a wolfhound — and show me how to train him — and he’s going to get rid of awful Mr Grunthorpe and let old Nannie come and live in the house again. He told me all that while Mummy was resting, and it’s all because of you, Harriet — otherwise someone else might have bought Stavely first, but you found him and you made everything come right.’

‘I’m glad, Henry.’ The pain could definitely be said to be limbering up. She had imagined it often, but there seemed to be aspects that one could not in fact anticipate and the physical part was beginning to be a nuisance: the nausea, the trembling that assailed her limbs — and needing cover, she moved away a little so as to be out of the brightest rays of the lamp.

‘Mummy said I could stay awake and tell you all about it as long as I didn’t bother Uncle Rom.’ Henry paused, remembering his mother’s unaccustomed gentleness as she put him to bed. ‘She said I could watch out for you and tell you everything because you’ve been so kind to us.’ He moved closer to Harriet because there was still one anxiety that he needed to share with this best of friends. ‘When she was saying good night, Mummy told me that she had to marry my father when she was young because he made such a dreadful fuss when she said she wouldn’t, but now he’s dead she can marry Uncle Rom. Only Harriet, when she marries him he’ll be my stepfather, won’t he? Like Mr Murdstone in David Copperfield and all those cruel step-people in fairy stories. And Mr Murdstone was nice to David before he married his mother, but then he was awful. Only I don’t see how Uncle Rom could be awful, do you?’

One last effort and then she could let go… crawl away, be sick, howl like Hecuba…

‘Henry, if you don’t mind my saying so you’re being a little bit silly,’ said Harriet, managing to make her voice matter-of-fact — almost reproving. ‘Surely you have read The Jungle Book?’

‘Yes. Yes, I have.’ She made no attempt to prompt him, but waited quietly until understanding came. ‘You mean Mowgli!’ cried Henry. ‘Mowgli had a stepfather!’

‘Exactly.’

‘Yes, he did, didn’t he? An absolutely marvellous stepfather! A proper wolf!’ Henry was radiant. ‘Oh yes — and Uncle Rom’s a bit like a wolf, isn’t he — sort of brave and wild?’ As he smiled up at her she noticed that the gaps in his teeth were almost filled; it was three months since they had met in the maze. ‘Would you like to come and see Mummy?’ he went on. ‘She was in the sitting-room just now, hugging Uncle Rom and everything, but I expect they’ve stopped now.’ He broke off, his russet head tilted in concern. ‘Are you all right, Harriet? You’re not getting the measles?’

‘No, Henry. I’m… perfectly all right.’

‘I’d better go back to bed then or Mummy will be cross.’ He put up his arms and she kissed him for the last time. ‘You’re sure you’re not getting the measles?’ And as she nodded, ‘I’ll see you in the morning. You’re my best friend in the whole world, Harriet.’

‘And you are mine.’

At the top of the terrace he turned. ‘Do you know what I’m sleeping in, Harriet? A hammock! Uncle Rom said I could — honestly!’ said Henry and pattered away towards the house.

He had gone, but she wasn’t sick and the trembling had stopped. Because of course it couldn’t be true, what Henry had said — it couldn’t be over so suddenly, so completely, without the journey back still to be with Rom. Henry wouldn’t lie, but he must be mistaken. He was so intelligent that it was easy to forget that he was just a little child.

She went quietly up the last of the steps, made her way towards the windows of the salon. The curtains were open and light streamed out on to the terrace.

Inside, two figures, unaware of her… absorbed.

(‘I know what it’s like… I know how it is to be at a window… outside… and to look in on a lighted room and not be able to make anyone hear.’

‘How do you know? You have not experienced it.’

‘Perhaps I am going to one day. There is a man in England who says that time is curved…’)

Rom stood with his back to her, the dark head bent, one arm resting on a bookcase. Isobel faced him, almost as tall as he, and for a moment it seemed to Harriet that she looked straight at her, but of course she could not have seen her in the darkness — that was absurd. She had loosened the beautiful red hair which flowed like a river over her black gown and as she leaned towards Rom, smiling, putting a hand on his arm, their sense of kinship came across to Harriet as clearly as if she had proclaimed, ‘We belong, this man and I! We inhabit the same world!’

Then, perhaps responding to something Rom had said, she moved forward, stumbled a little… seemed as if she might fall — and as he moved quickly towards her, her arms went round him and her head came to rest against his shoulder. And as she stood thus in sanctuary, staring past the place where Harriet stood, her face was transfigured by pride and happiness and love.

‘It is only necessary to do the steps,’ Marie-Claude had said.

But there were no steps for this: no piteous undulations of the arms, no bourrées backwards. Just a slow turning to stone… a nothingness… a death.

Then she turned and walked away — moving, this lightest of dancers, like an old, old woman — and vanished into the dark.

‘No! No! No!’ yelled Grisha, whacking at Harriet’s shins with his cane. ‘You are a durak — an idiot! Why do you bend your knees like a carthorse? The line must be smooth, smooth…’ He demonstrated, flicked his fingers at the old accompanist — and in the cleared Palm Lounge of the Lafayette, Harriet resumed her assemblés.

She had been working for two hours and before that there had been class and Grisha, formerly so kind, had bullied and shouted and despaired of her as he had done each day of their journey across the calm Atlantic. For Harriet was no longer just a girl in the corps — Simonova was taking her to Russia; she was to be a serious dancer and for a girl thus singled out there could be no mercy and no rest.