Bettina von Hase is an art advisor, journalist and writer. She founded her own company, Nine AM (www.nineam.co.uk), which advises, and collaborates with, museums, artists, collectors, and companies worldwide. After Oxford, she worked at Reuters as a foreign correspondent in Vienna and Paris. She was a television producer for CBS News America and ARD German TV in New York. She advised Tate Modern on its founding strategy; and was Development Director at The National Gallery. Her journalism about culture and modern life has appeared in the FT newspaper and How To Spend It; The Telegraph Magazine; The Times; The Spectator; The New Statesman; Vogue UK; and the Italian magazine Panorama. She received a Masters in Modern History at Oxford (1978), and is studying for a Masters in Creative and Life Writing at Goldsmiths College, London.   

Email: bettina@nineam.co.uk 

Website: www.nineam.co.uk 

This is an extract from my novel Spring Ranch. London gallery owner Nora Nicholson meets her US client Amy Madd, a collector from San Francisco, who is establishing the Madd Art Foundation in Florence. Nora has delivered a group of paintings she sold to the Foundation. Luke, who also lives part-time in San Francisco, has come to Florence with his daughter Aspen to visit Nora. Nora was introduced to Luke by her Italian friend Viv who lives in New York. Nora and Luke are on the cusp of having an affair. We join them as they are walking with Aspen from the Uffizi gallery back to the Bristol Hotel. They have just seen Aspen’s favourite painting, Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. 

Other characters in the extract are: 
Katharina: Luke’s ex-wife, and Aspen’s mother 
Jim: Viv’s husband 
Stella: Nora’s childhood friend from London 
Xavier: Nora’s ex-boyfriend. She had a break-down after their split. 
Note:  Viv’s code name for Luke is Mr. Redford (after Robert) 

 

Spring Ranch 

 

Chapter XII 

They left the Uffizi gallery and walked back to the Bristol. It was 6.00 in the evening, and Nora saw Amy already waiting for her in the lobby for a farewell drink. She introduced her to Luke and Aspen as ‘my client’, and then went to her room to fetch her notes on the Madd Foundation’s launch plans. When she came back down, they were sitting at the bar sipping Campari.  

‘Aspen’s gone upstairs to watch TV,’ Luke said. ‘You know the craziest thing? Amy and I worked out we both lived in Presidio Heights in SF when we were growing up.’ 

‘A few streets away from each other,’ Amy added. 

‘What a coincidence.’ Nora said. She dug her nails into her left hand. She was somehow rattled by this information but hoped it didn’t show. Luke stood up to leave. ‘Great to meet you, and I’m sure our paths will cross again.’ He put his hand on Nora’s shoulder. ‘See you here in an hour?’  

Nora nodded and watched him walk towards the lifts.   

‘It’s funny,’ Amy said. ‘At first, he seemed a total stranger. But then he started talking, and I had this strong feeling I’d met him before. I don’t remember where or how.’ 

‘Luke told me he’d come across your father a bit when we spoke about my reason for being in Florence.’ It crossed Nora’s mind that she was telling a lie. Luke, not the Madd Foundation, was her real reason for being here.  

‘Yes. But that’s not it. This goes further back. It’ll come to me.’ 

There was something in what Amy said that made Nora uneasy. She couldn’t pinpoint its origin, but it refused to shift. Of course, they might have known each other, she reasoned; moved in similar circles even. SF was not such a large city. But the fact that their worlds had collided through her somehow felt like a threat. She had a strange sensation of being on the outside looking in. She lowered her gaze as if admiring the mirrored bar counter, her face, reflected in it, impassive and unknowable. Nora changed the subject back to Madd’s launch and Amy re-focussed. She was on her way out when Nora saw Luke approaching. She observed him smiling at Amy and waving goodbye. His eyes then scanned the room, and he walked over to her.   

‘Aspen’s tired and ordered room service.’  

He sat down on the bar stool which Amy had just vacated.  

‘It was a big day for her.’ 

‘Of course. First time in Florence.’  

‘I’m happy our last night is our own,’ he said.  

They ate at Trattoria Cammillo in Borgo San Jacopo, close to the Madd Foundation building. The restaurant, with its arched brick ceiling and white tablecloths, served simple seasonal Tuscan food. In November its specialty was ribollita, a thick vegetable and bread stew they ordered. They couldn’t say or eat much; it was obvious what was on their minds. After dinner, Luke pulled her close on the street and kissed her hard on the mouth. His lips tasted of the persimmon tiramisu they’d shared for dessert. Wrapped around each other, they were oblivious to passers-by pressing along the street on their way home. Florence is a town for kissing, she thought. Hand in hand for the first time, they walked slowly back to the hotel. This time they didn’t part on the third floor. Luke opened the door and let her into his room before him.  

‘I’ve loved every minute of being here,’ he said. ‘Every minute of being with you.’  

‘Me, too.’ 

She was ready. She let him lead her to the bed and sat down on the mattress’s edge. He undressed her, peeling off each garment with care. She lay down, naked now, and extended her arms to him. He took off his clothes quickly, his body narrower than when dressed. He switched off the main light, and they were glued together at once, her body responding to his. At first, they beamed at each other, as if they had invented this game all on their own. Then his hand travelled to her breasts, parking there gently, briefly, before sliding down towards her stomach and between her legs. He caressed her slowly, then more steadily, intuiting her response. In time — she lost all sense of it — she gasped with pleasure. They turned over and she sat astride him. They revelled in their new sensory language, their eyes locked, unblinking. They were in unison, becoming more urgent, skin upon skin. Afterwards, they stayed wrapped around each other for a long time.  

Finally, he pulled out of her, and she stretched over him, covering him completely, as if to touch his body in every place she possibly could. Her head nestled into his shoulder, and she nuzzled him, inhaled him. Scale did not matter in a horizontal position. Luke was a head taller than her, but in bed, they were of equal size, her toes touching his, her lips near his ear, their bodies in sync. He drew up the sheets, and they stayed silent and motionless for a while. To speak was to break the spell. Then Nora curled up beside him and they fell asleep.  

*** 

She woke at 7 to a sun-filled room. Luke was turned away from her, lying on his side. Her body felt heavy, sensuous, tingling; she inhabited every inch of it. A Psychology PhD friend from university had once told her: ‘It’s not love’ – rolling his eyes – ‘your post-coital euphoria is induced by high levels of dopamine and oxytocin coursing through your body.’ She didn’t care what was responsible: she hadn’t felt this good in years and gloried in its after-effects.  

She looked around and saw a double door, leading to somewhere she didn’t know. She guessed it was to another room connected to his: Aspen’s perhaps? It wouldn’t be wise to be discovered by his daughter. She got up, found her clothes and dressed quickly. Then she walked over to his side of the bed and studied him. He was sound asleep, and looked younger, untroubled. Her eyes travelled over his sheet-swathed form, curved like a bow resting after an archery contest.  His right arm was tanned to a short-sleeve line above his elbow, the other one hidden under a pillow. His torso was visible, his breathing strong. She clocked the fact that he had just the right amount of hair on his chest; the right amount for Nora meant not too much. It seemed important not to wake him. She had a dread of the first morning-after conundrum, the potential embarrassment of not knowing quite what to say to each other. A sheepish ‘good morning’; too much exposure in all that daylight. Sex and friendship had parallel trajectories; a connection between them was not a given. She closed the door quietly and reached her own room, where she took a long bath with essential oils. The hot water made her sleepy, and before she knew it, she climbed into bed and was gone. 

Her hotel phone rang. It took her time to come to; she’d been submerged in a deep dream. Stranded in a wilderness, she had found a man hanging by ropes from a hoodoo rock. She knew it was an execution gone wrong, not a suicide. She cut him down, tried to carry him on her shoulders, but he slid off and fell into a rough surf. She was in the water, too, in a dinghy, but she couldn’t reach him, saw him half-swallowed by a strange creature in the blue-black waves. Suddenly the Wind God of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus appeared and came to her aid by blowing man and beast to the shore. The man had lost an arm; he was bleeding heavily and struggled to climb out of the beast’s belly before being swallowed whole.   

‘Good morning, sleepy head, join us for breakfast,’ Luke said. She looked at her watch; it was 10.30.  ‘We’re sitting downstairs, I’ll order for you.’  

‘Scrambled eggs and bacon,’ she said. She realised she was famished. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’ 

Aspen and Luke looked equally pleased to see her – he patted a chair next to him, and she sat down, smiling at both. In that moment, she claimed them as her own. The impending departure distilled her emotions, made them more vivid. Separation was a cruel prospect after last night. She looked at Luke, who squeezed her hand briefly, in front of Aspen. But Nora saw that Aspen had her head down, looking at her phone.  

‘When are we going to see you again?’ Luke said, letting go of Nora’s hand. ‘Aspen and I have decided we can’t say good-bye without another plan. This time, we’ll organise it.’ 

‘How about Spring Ranch for Christmas?’ Aspen looked up at Nora expectantly.  

‘You’re meant to visit Mom in Vienna then,’ Luke said. ‘We have to see how she’s doing.’  

Aspen shifted in her seat. 

‘Ok, but maybe I could visit Nora after Vienna? I’d love to see her gallery.’ 

‘The art market sleeps over Christmas, so you could come when you want,’ Nora said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.’ 

They checked out from the hotel that afternoon, with similar times for their flights, Nora to London, Luke and Aspen to San Francisco. The radio taxi blared a pop song Ti vorrei sollevare by Giuliano Sangiorgi. That’s Luke, Nora thought. That’s what he’s done. Lifted me, lightened me, given me joy. They hugged and kissed in the departures lounge, saying their final good-byes; then, in a flurry, they went their separate ways. She sat down for a moment on a scrappy bench, next to prostrate travellers who were sleeping off their jetlag.  

It was brutal, that shift from togetherness to a solo state. She never minded when she was on her own, but now, in this new state of being with someone, she felt bereft. She watched Luke walk away from her, along the gleaming terrazzo corridor towards their gate, Aspen trailing after him, adjusting her rucksack. He turned round to wave once more, and Nora’s stomach fluttered. She wandered aimlessly through duty-free, found her departure gate and opened her mobile. A message from Luke. He must have written it before they set off in the taxi; he wouldn’t have had the time to compose it just now:  

If only you’d woken me this morning. I would have told you that I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I’m so happy to have found you, nn.

She liked the way he abbreviated her name. Nora Nicholson: nn. It seemed a leap to the next stage of their intimacy.  

Chapter XIII 

Back in London, Nora was restless. She found it hard to re-enter into daily life. She regretted not having had more time with Luke. The drawback of physical proximity was the subsequent hunger for more. She wanted to kiss him, touch him, feel his hands on her. To her relief, Viv had written to say she was coming to London for a few days; Jim was chairing a publishers’ conference in Russell Square, and she would tag along. Her advice on Luke would be invaluable: 

It’s been ages! You’ve been ignoring me. Because of Mr. Redford? her email read. It was true. Nora had neglected her in the last few weeks: she hadn’t told Viv about Florence yet. She’d wanted to, but needed to digest the trip herself first, what it meant, how she felt. Her response to Viv was still languishing in her email drafts: 

Darling heart, Luke met me in Florence. It finally happened. So romantic. I swooned. Not in front of him, of course. Now I see-saw between being thrilled and disheartened. What impact will he have on my life? I want to know but can’t ask. It’s driving me crazy. Honestly, after Xavier, I can’t stand the thought of another pointless affair. Remember Stella, my childhood friend you met in London? She said to me: with your choice of men, you schedule in the end before the beginning. Stella was right, however much it hurt at the time. Why have I always chosen men who won’t commit? You of all people will know. Need your advice. BTW, he has a nickname for me: nn. Sweet, isn’t it? 

Nora, at 44, knew that experience, good or bad, was hard to edit out at this stage. She felt beyond the first draft of her story:  

My life isn’t yet set or complete, she had emailed Viv in one of their daily communications after the break-up with Xavier – but significant chapters have been written. The man I want to be with would have to fit a similar description. He would have suffered, like I have. He would have discovered that with acquired experience comes greater emotional fragility. When I was younger, I was convinced it would be the opposite. I would grow tougher and more resilient with age. But Xavier’s behaviour taught me otherwise.  

At the time, she didn’t know how Viv had managed to email her daily – but those missives had become her lifeline.  

***  

Stella rang to say she was in the neighbourhood and wanted to meet. The perfect reason to shut the gallery early; there was no footfall anyhow. They chose a café on Piccadilly. Nora arrived first and slid into one of the shabby velveteen booths. Stella came a few minutes later, dark hair flying, as dramatic as when they had first met at school as 13-year-olds. She was 6ft, her rangy frame dressed in tailored men’s clothes, carrying several shopping bags.  

‘Early Christmas chores,’ she said. ‘I had a meeting nearby, and thought why not take advantage?’ Stella was creative director in an advertising agency, but she really wanted to be a painter. She spent all her weekends in a makeshift studio near her apartment.   

‘Florence sounded fun,’ she said taking off her coat. She threw a sly grin at Nora. ‘So, what next?’ 

‘I don’t know. He seems too good to be true. He’s divorced, but not recently, thank God. He has a daughter he loves, so he isn’t child-phobic…’ 

‘I get it. Are you in love with him already?’ 

‘I’m in a state of ‘pleasure shock’. It’s been so long, and now my suppressed desires have come rushing to the surface. Let’s say, I’m on high alert.’ 

‘Men, whether married, separated or divorced, are dangerous,’ Stella said. ‘They’re still usually entangled with their wives.’ 

‘And the ones with no apparent passions, jobs, or responsibilities – need to steer clear of them too.’  

‘It’s harder now than it was in our 20s.’  

‘Yes. It was fun then, with easily identifiable criteria, looks, humour, intelligence – it really boiled down to who we fancied.’  

‘Hormones buzzing. And no pressure to commit. We were all the same age and in the same place, at school and university.’  

‘We were so privileged, and we didn’t even know it. The world was 360 degrees open.’ Nora signalled to a waiter to take their order.  

‘But in my 30s, I diverged from my friends.’  

‘How so?’ Stella asked. 

‘They started making important personal decisions. You, for example – having a baby on your own. Instead, I went to my father’s gallery. A much safer choice.’ 

‘Hang on, Nicholson’s was a great opportunity for you,’ Stella said.  

‘But I stalled on a personal level. Then Xavier knifed me. What about relationships, marriage, children, living in different countries….’ Nora trailed off.  

‘You’re not thinking of getting pregnant?’ Stella asked.  

This was an unexpected, yet familiar twist. Stella had an inimitable way of cutting to the quick at sensitive junctures. She doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, Nora thought. 

‘You haven’t known him long enough, you know that don’t you,’ Stella said. 

‘What do you mean?’ Nora’s voice rose slightly.  

Denial was hopeless. Stella knew what went through Nora’s mind, certainly whenever a man came into view. She couldn’t help it. At her age, the sound of biological alarm bells was deafening. She’d even been to a fertility clinic, where the consultant had told her in no uncertain terms to ‘get on with it.’  

‘Seriously, why are my closest friends so down on this? You, Viv…you both have children. Of course, I need to get to know him better – but what’s wrong with still hoping?’   

‘Nothing. We want to protect you. I don’t know about Viv, but in my case it’s maybe because I’m a single mother. It’s hard.’ Stella put her ink-stained hand on Nora’s. ‘And he’s a single father.’     

‘Exactly. He might want to get out of that state. Be tempted to have a second child to create another family.’  

The young waiter hovered, his sheepish look indicating that he had overheard Nora’s last sentence. They waited in silence while he filled their cups, then he scuttled away, not wanting to encroach further. 

 ‘If he loves you, treats you right and is dependable, I’m in,’ Stella said. ‘What’s his job?’  

‘I think he made money on Wall Street. Then built a life as a rancher. In Utah. He’s gone after his dream.’ 

‘Promise to let me get a look at him before you do anything irrevocable.’  

Nora nodded.  

On her way home she reviewed their conversation. What was her own dream exactly? She had often asked herself that question over the last twenty years. Her decision about work had been easy. The architectural wonders of Florence had whispered it in her ear. So far, the dream of children had been denied her. Her younger self had expected it: of course, she would have them. Only later had that expectation turned gradually to fantasy. To what extent had she been an active participant in the contradiction between hope and reality? Denial had been easy when there was no love interest, no actual person to captivate her. There was nothing she could do about it, she told herself and others. It was delay, not avoidance. But Luke’s appearance had suddenly changed the sturdy structure of her thinking, rendered it fragile. Like a Jenga game, he could remove one wooden piece and perhaps the tower would come crashing down on her, again.  

***

When she got home, she opened her laptop and found an email from Aspen:  

Hi Nora. Dad and I will be in Vienna with Mom for a few days before Christmas. Maybe London afterwards? Only if you want to and have time! Aspen xxx

A second email followed:  

Hi nn. A showed me her mail to you…wanted mine to be first! Sorry. Would so love to see you. Spend Christmas with you. Luke xx 

It was irresistible. She knew she would say yes. But where would they stay? Her flat was too small to have them both, unless Luke slept in her bed. But Aspen on the sofa right outside her bedroom? No. She needed to find another solution. She hadn’t liked their subterfuge in Florence. Her only excuse was that she had arrived there, as Stella would call it, ‘BS’ (Before Sex), but had left ‘AS’ (After Sex). She didn’t think Aspen had picked up on that; she was less certain whether Luke would want to be transparent at this juncture. In London, her own city, it seemed particularly undignified to hide their new status quo. She’s nearly 15, her parents have been divorced for years, Nora sought to reassure herself.  

It was new territory. Her observation of other girlfriends’ involvement with divorcés told a complex story. Their children were often left in the dark on romantic matters until confronted with a fait accompli they couldn’t stomach or get used to. The fall-out was frequently bad, with children weaponised by parents to engage in bitter custody fights.  

Nora took the tube to Green Park for her weekly dinner with her parents. Jacqueline opened the door, drink in hand. 

‘It’s just me tonight,’ she said. ‘Your father is having dinner with a client.’ 

‘Great to have you all to myself, Mum. How are things? Shall we get together over the holidays?’ 

‘Oh, no. I can’t believe we haven’t told you. We’ll be in Florida over Christmas and New Year, staying with the Drummonds.’ 

‘What an adventure! You’re never away at Christmas.’ 

‘They’re always inviting us, and we couldn’t say no anymore.’ 

While her mother was talking, an idea began to form in Nora’s mind: her parents’ flat, which was big, would be empty. Luke, Aspen, and she could stay there comfortably, and even better, it was above the gallery, the very reason for Aspen’s visit. Nora walked to the kitchen, where her mother was whisking up her famous dressing for tuna salad.   

‘Mum?’ 

‘Yes, darling.’ 

‘What would you say if I took care of your flat while you’re away?’  

‘Why would you do that? You’ve got your own place?’ 

‘An American friend of mine and his teenage daughter want to come to London over Christmas for a few days. My flat…um…is a bit small to have them both. Might we stay at yours instead?’ 

‘The American…is he a boyfriend?’  

Poor Mum, Nora thought: ever hopeful.  

‘It’s early days but looks promising.’ 

‘How exciting! Can I tell your father?’ 

‘Yes, if you don’t embellish it so he thinks I’m about to get engaged.’  

Jaqueline laughed. She set the round table and poured two glasses of Chablis. 

‘I’ll ask father. I’d far rather you stayed here. And don’t worry, I won’t ask you anymore about boyfriends.’  

‘You just did!’   

‘I was curious. You’ve never asked me anything like that before. I hope it means something.’  

Nora appreciated the fact that her mother never mentioned marriage or babies. She had a resolute positivity in that regard, whatever her private thoughts. Her mantra was ‘I know you’re going to find someone. I have no doubt about it,’ and that was that.  

‘Don’t worry Mum, I always want to know your view. You were right about Xavier. If only I’d listened to you then.’  

After her breakdown, Nora had opened up to her mother for the first time. She felt she owed it to her, for looking after her. It comforted them both. During their long walks around the Serpentine, Nora had been adamant that she didn’t want to have a child on her own. 

‘I don’t want to rob a man of his sperm,’ she’d told her mother. ‘Surreptitiously fall pregnant, like some women do. Trap the man by becoming a mother. That’s what Stella did; although she denies it.’  

Nora’s ferocity alarmed her mother.   

‘It’s much more important to be with a man who you love and who loves you. Children might come afterwards.’  

‘I promise you that if I’m going to have a child, it will be conceived with love, or not at all,’ Nora said. ‘Marriage is secondary.’  

‘In my day, many women didn’t share this view,’ Jacqueline said. ‘They married for security. Love was a luxury.’  

‘Still the case today, mum. They get hitched so they don’t have to work and earn money themselves. After the wedding, they look for love elsewhere.’ 

‘So, women’s lib didn’t help?’  

‘We’ve gone backwards. You can’t believe how often it’s with their husbands’ friends. Much easier right under their noses.’ 

‘Tell me.’  

‘Well, at dinners I usually sit between two boring husbands. While my married hostess sits next to the one attractive single male, or the exciting partner of one of her friends.’ 

‘How brazen.’ 

‘And you know the ultimate humiliation? The wives are suspicious of me! As if I wanted to sleep with their hideous husbands.’ 

It was true. Nora looked at couples around her and found too many of them mundane and unromantic. A vaguely bored familiarity, quotidian chores, a lack of mystery and thrill. She had no interest in that sort of affair and felt pride in her solo status. There was a dignity to it, a true independence.  

They finished supper and had another glass of wine.  

‘If my American turns out to be a candidate, I’ll run him by you,’ Nora said, hugging her mother, ‘and you’ll tell me what you think. His name is Luke, by the way.’  

‘Lucky Luke.’  

Jacqueline had that rare gift of being able to scan people she’d only just met with uncanny accuracy. She would come out with deft assessments delivered in her staccato voice: ‘he’s a lightweight’/’she’s untrustworthy’/’they’re rooting for you’. Usually, she was right. Nora called it ‘Mum’s radar’ and ignored it at her peril.   

‘She can hear the grass grow,’ she told Stella once, when asked to describe a special attribute of her mother’s in one sentence. 

Chapter XIV 

On her return home, she opened her laptop:  

Hi there, I’d be thrilled if you both came – call me to discuss. nn xxx 

Her phone rang 10 minutes later. 

‘Aspen emailed before me,’ Luke said. ‘Women! I think she was worried that I wouldn’t allow her to send it.’ Nora could sense him smiling; there was a timbre to his voice which he only used in conjunction with Aspen, a rich, gravelly sound.  

‘Why wouldn’t you allow her?’ 

‘Perhaps because I was jealous…I met you first.’ 

Now it was Nora’s turn to smile. She hadn’t banked on him revealing a golden nugget like that, even in jest, and it made her heart go fuzzy. 

‘A great plan to come for Christmas,’ she said, ‘and where are you going to stay?’ She was jumping in at the deep end but saw no alternative.  

‘I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,’ he said which she found hard to believe. ‘There’s a great hotel, 11 Cadogan Gardens, more like someone’s private house, we could stay there? I’d organise.’   

‘Could I ask you…um…does Aspen…know about us?’  

There was silence at the other end. 

‘I mean, about what happened in Florence.’ 

‘I don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned anything.’ A slight hesitation, then Luke cleared his throat. ‘Things have been a bit tricky with Katharina. I’m juggling between her and Aspen.’  

‘I understand.’ Nora said and waited. She understood the power of silence. She wasn’t going to help him with this. 

‘I’m relieved they’re meeting before Christmas, not spending it with her,’ he said. ‘She’s conflicted about her mother. Loves her, protects her, but also fears her.’ 

‘Of course.’ Nora sensed the wavelength between them changing. An imperceptible chill had descended; her voice seemed stilted: 

‘She’s nearly 15. She’s probably figured it out already. If we’re going to spend time together, I don’t want to lie to her. It would be disrespectful to her. And to us.’ 

‘I get it. I’m not very good at confronting these things. Would it be ok if we parked this? I want to think about what’s best.’ 

‘Sure. Perhaps you should tell her after her visit to Katharina. That way, her mind for now is on her mother.’  

She paused.    

‘It’s difficult to discuss this over the phone, I know,’ Nora said. ‘I’d just like to know how I fit into the overall picture.’ 

She wanted to say, look, I’m not being demanding, but what’s happening here? She sat with the discomfort of not knowing what Luke was really thinking, and how he was evaluating this new twist. Perhaps he was questioning whether she was worth it.   

‘I understand,’ he finally said. ‘And I’m glad you called me on this. You’re right, we need to sort this out.’  

‘I’d want to know if I were Aspen,’ Nora said. ‘I’m very fond of her, and I wouldn’t want to play charades.’ 

‘Charades?’ 

‘You know that word game where you have to guess the meaning of what someone is acting out.’  

‘I’ve never played it,’ Luke said. 

‘The point is, I don’t want to play or pretend with Aspen…I’d like things to be truthful between her and me.’  

Their conversation had developed of its own accord and gone slightly out of control. The risk of raising the subject had been hers, a risk she was prepared to stand by. But she knew she had to stop right now if she wanted to see him again.  

There was a long pause. 

‘I’m touched you think about Aspen,’ he said. ‘She’s young for her age, and it’s kind of you to treat her right. You’ve got good instincts.’ 

‘Thank you. Call me when you can.’  

Nora pressed the end button on her phone. She felt deflated, her immediate reaction a wish to retract what she’d said. Why had she raised it? It was self-protection, but somehow it had come out wrong. She should have tempered her remarks with other, kinder, things. She drew up her shoulders. No. Stop. What had her shrink said all those years ago? Own your responses. Trust them. Articulate your concerns. In an ideal world that would have gone as follows: ‘Luke, your procrastination really bothers me. It makes me respect you less.’  

The history with Xavier had made her allergic to moving through twilight. She couldn’t go back there: the deceptions, the small humiliations, the secrecy. Beyond the tumble-dryer of her thoughts, she was rooting for the right thing. To heed her feelings and have them honoured by a man she was with. If Luke turned out not to be that man, so be it. Xavier had been an assassin. She had described it as emotional anorexia to her doctor: ‘I’ve subsisted on bread and cheese when what I really wanted was a three-course meal all these years.’ Her depression had been tinged with a deep-seated sense of unworthiness. Nora still wasn’t sure where this originated. ‘Only Child Syndrome’ perhaps, an ambition to succeed, innate shyness, her need for control. The answer lay in a tangle of all of these, not just in one.