‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘I love the sea.’

He made a non-committal reply and she let it drop, remembering that the sea conjured up unfortunate memories for him.

‘Do you want to go in any particular direction?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t know any details. Jacko was a good guide, but he never told me how things looked.’

After a moment he realised that she had made a joke, but by then it was too late to respond.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Tell me about the boats.’

He did so, describing the ferries that came and went while she leaned on the wall that overlooked the water, an expression of total absorption on her face. At last she sighed and reached out for him.

‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘Francesco?’

For a moment she touched only empty air, and she was suddenly full of tension.

‘I’m here,’ he said, quickly taking her hand. ‘Sorry-my mind wandered for a moment.’

‘I didn’t know where you were,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t know where I was.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t take it so much to heart,’ she told him, smiling faintly.

‘You’re shivering.’

‘I guess it’s getting cold. Shall we go?’

He gave a groan.

‘I’m useless at this. I thought it would be simple but it isn’t. I keep wanting to tell you everything, then backing off in case I overdo it and annoy you.’

For a moment Celia was silent, too shocked to speak. The words, He’s afraid, flashed through her brain.

From the beginning she’d known him as a forceful, domineering man, easily annoyed with people who wouldn’t agree with him, including herself. But with her he’d suppressed his exasperation, always loving and tender, except in their quarrels. Even then she’d sensed him controlling himself, and it had had the perverse effect of increasing her anger because she’d felt she was being patronised. With a sighted woman he’d have felt free to let his anger explode. She’d always been certain of that.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She’d thrown him out, but was that the only reason for his hesitation? Hadn’t it always been there, if she’d had the wit to sense it?

He’s afraid, she thought again. And hard on the heels of that came the worst thought of all. Afraid of me.

‘Let’s try again,’ he said. ‘I’m holding out my arm close to you.’

‘If you were a gentleman you’d take my hand and tuck it into place,’ she said, in a voice that sounded strangely shaky.

‘Sure-if that’s all right with you.’

She felt him fit her hand into the crook of his elbow, and waited for him to give it a small pat before withdrawing his own hand. But he didn’t, and a thousand thoughts clashed in her mind.

Forceful? Domineering? Him?

He’s on hot coals for fear of offending me. Is that what I’ve done to him?

‘Let’s get back,’ she said. ‘I’m very tired.’

A moment ago she could have walked for ever. Suddenly she was nervous. A sense of failure was creeping over her. She wasn’t used to it and didn’t know how to cope.

They walked home in silence.

Sharing an apartment, which had seemed so simple, turned out to be a minefield. Before, they had lived together with the casual intimacy of lovers, free to walk in on each other half dressed, without thinking.

Now he was a cross between an upper servant and a guide dog, with no privileges, only a duty to keep a respectful distance and obey his owner at all times. He had persuaded her on the solemn promise of respecting that duty.

Francesco’s first inkling of just how tough this was going to be came on the second evening. Searching for his favourite pen, he recalled that it had been in his jacket pocket the night they had made love. He’d torn the jacket off, tossing it onto the floor. Now the pen was missing, so it had probably fallen onto the floor and might be there still.

Thinking Celia was in the bathroom, he went into her room. But she was sitting on the bed, naked except for a tiny pair of pink satin briefs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said hastily, backing off. ‘I thought you were-I’ll go.’

‘Did you want something?’

‘I was looking for my-’ Maddeningly, he found that his mind was blank. ‘Never mind. Another time.’

He got out fast, shocked by what was happening to him. He’d seen her wearing less before-many times-but always with her willing consent. Now he felt like a Peeping Tom, intruding on her vulnerability. Most stunning of all was the undignified thrill of seeing something that should have been off-limits. Illicit pleasure, forbidden enchantment. It was like watching What The Butler Saw, utterly disgraceful and unbearably exciting.

He fled to his own room while he still had some self-control, and lay all night without sleeping.

They found a kind of routine. Within the apartment she needed no help, because she knew where everything was. She would cook, and even clean the place, although she employed help for this. Not because she was blind, but because the success of her work left her little time to spare.

Francesco insisted on looking after himself, including making his own bed, despite Celia’s mischievous insistence that she had never required this from Jacko.

If she worked at her projects at home he would be free to leave her for a few hours, to put some time in at his own job. If she was working with Sandro he would deliver her to Sandro’s office and leave her in his care, collecting her at the end of the day.

The parachute jump had caused a lot of interest, and Francesco waited for Celia to announce her own jump. He was well prepared, his self-control primed and ready for the worst. When the blow fell he would not protest. He would accept her decision, drive her to the airfield and muffle his terror.

But days passed with no announcement, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Last thing at night they would take a walk together through the streets of Naples, while he described the sights to her. These were their happiest times. Sometimes they would stand by the water’s edge, listening to the cry of sea-gulls and the sounds coming from the boats, before walking back to the apartment.

It wasn’t exciting, but it was comfortable. He could sense her relaxing with him, and knew that this was a new phase for them.

One night she said, ‘Why do we always branch left here? Isn’t there a right branch that would get us home just as well? Or have I got that wrong?’

‘It would take longer,’ he prevaricated.

‘I don’t care. Let’s take the other way.’

‘I’ll bet you didn’t argue with Jacko like this.’

‘I wasn’t suspicious of Jacko.’

‘I’ll sit on your foot in a minute,’ he threatened.

They laughed together, making their way slowly along the street until they came to the moment when his dark secret was revealed.

‘Who’s that calling us overhead?’ she asked.

‘That’s my brother, Ruggiero,’ Francesco said in a resigned voice. ‘He and Polly live in this block, and right now they’re leaning out, enjoying the sight of me being a good dog.’

‘But how do they know that’s what you’re doing?’

‘How long do you think it took to go around the family?’ he asked through gritted teeth. ‘No, don’t stop-let’s get on.’

‘We can’t go without talking to your relatives if they’ve seen us. It wouldn’t be polite.’

From above them came riotous cries of, ‘Woof, woof!’

‘Take a running jump,’ Francesco called back. ‘Preferably out of that window.’

‘Celia, tell your hound to lead you in this direction,’ Ruggiero called down.

‘Well, go on,’ she told him. ‘Good doggie. Obey!’

‘I’ll get my own back,’ he vowed as they went up. But he was grinning.

‘You’ve been avoiding us,’ Ruggiero said when they were each settled with cake and a glass of white sparkling prosecco.

‘And you’ve been looking out for us,’ Francesco said. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t leaned out of the window every night, hoping for a good laugh at me.’

‘All right, I won’t say it,’ Ruggiero agreed.

Newly married, they had just finished visiting the more far-flung family members. Justin and Evie had welcomed them in England; Luke and Minnie had given them a riotous party in Rome.

‘Mind you, most of the riot came from Minnie’s previous in-laws,’ Polly recalled. ‘Heavens, they know how to give a party! We were exhausted when we went on to Uncle Franco and Aunt Lisa the next day. Luckily they’re much more sedate, because I don’t think we had enough energy for another mad evening.’

‘How are they?’ Francesco asked.

There was nothing in his voice to suggest that the subject particularly concerned him, and Celia wondered if she only imagined that the casual note was just a little contrived.

‘They seem fine,’ Ruggiero replied. ‘Of course, they’re getting old. Aunt Lisa has had bronchitis recently, but she’s over it now. And Uncle Franco-well, you know him.’

‘Not really,’ Francesco said quietly. ‘I’ve seen very little of him.’

Now Celia was sure she heard something strange in his voice. It seemed a good moment to discover that she had a headache, and in a few minutes they were heading home.

For a while she chatted casually, but at last it got through to her that he wasn’t responding.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s not like you to be so silent. Has something upset you.’

‘You’re not the only one with a headache,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s get home.’

When the apartment door was locked behind them he bade her good-night as quickly as possible, and she did the same. It wasn’t what she wanted. Painful as it was, she had to accept that. She longed to reach out to him and take his troubles on herself-for that he was in some kind of trouble there could be no doubt.

In the old days she would have enfolded him in her arms and her heart, giving him all her love. But now things had changed, and suddenly she knew she had to be cautious. Like him, she went to bed without delay.

She fell asleep quickly, then awoke in the early hours, certain that some noise had disturbed her, but there was only silence. Sitting up in bed, she listened, and at last heard a muffled sound that seemed to come from next door. Slipping out of bed, she opened her door and went to stand outside Francesco’s room. Now she could clearly hear the desperate, gasping mutters from inside.

Turning the handle quietly, she slipped inside and went to the bed. Sitting down on it, she discovered that Francesco was lying on his back, his eyes closed, muttering in his sleep. At first she couldn’t make out the words, but then she realised that he was saying the same thing, over and over.

‘Get out-get out-get out-’

‘Francesco-’ She shook him, but he didn’t wake. It was as though he was trapped inside his nightmare, with no escape.

‘Francesco!’

She shook his shoulders again, but he only began to toss and turn. Moving her hands gently across his face, she discovered that his cheeks were wet, as though he was weeping in his sleep.

She hesitated. They had set rules for sharing the apartment-rules that kept them firmly on different sides of a line. But this situation wasn’t covered by any rule that she acknowledged, and if it had been she would have broken it.

She was about to lean down and kiss him when he let out a cry and shot up in bed, colliding with her so that she almost fell off, and had to hold on to him.

‘Francesco, what’s the matter? Are you awake?’

‘What? What? Who are you?’ He was shaking her.

‘Francesco-it’s me-Celia.’

One of the hands holding her disappeared, and she heard the light being switched on. Dismayed, she wondered if his confusion was really so far gone that he had to see her to be sure.

‘For pity’s sake, what’s the matter?’ she begged.

‘Nothing, I-What are you doing in here?’

‘I heard you cry out in your sleep. Then you were muttering over and over to yourself-It sounded like Get out.’

She heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘You imagined that,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘It could have been anything.’

‘No, it was definitely Get out but-’

‘You imagined that.’

‘All right. Maybe I did.’

‘Who knows what people say when they have a bad dream? Don’t you ever have them?’

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘But if I did I’d come to you and ask you to put your arms around me. Especially if it was bad enough to make me cry.’

She put her hand up to touch his face, but felt him seize it, holding her away from him.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not crying.’

She knew better than to argue, but she was full of confusion. She’d never known him in this mood before.