Proserpina

It had been a month since our last, violent meeting, and I had not set eyes on Lucien since.

We, the children and I, never went down if there was a hint of guests arriving. Instead, we hid away like ghosts, staying upstairs until Beatrice appeared to announce that the coast was clear.

The man I had married never came to see us, the twins and I. But his friend, James Schwartz, often turned up, to stay for hours, playing with the kids, quite happy to be in his ...