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Matthew did not blink. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll take that too.’

Peter knew about Matthew’s more-than-comfortable financial situation; Big Lou had told him, discreetly of course. ‘If you’re sure . . .’

‘I am,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ve never been surer in my life.’

With his purchases cosseted in bubble wrap, Matthew left the Thrie Estaits and walked briskly back up the road. Inside the gallery, she looked at him reproachfully, but he noticed that she was struggling not to smile. ‘You’re very bad,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Well, I have,’ said Matthew. ‘And here you are. Here’s your replacement. As good as the last one, I’m told.’

She took the package and unwrapped it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect that. But thank you.’

Matthew blushed. His heart was racing now, but he felt a curious elation. ‘And I bought you an extra little present to make up for my clumsiness,’ he said. ‘Here.’

He thrust the parcelled-up Meissen figure into her hands and waited for her to unwrap it.

‘But you can’t!’ she protested. ‘You really can’t. The vase was one thing, this is . . .’

‘Please,’ said Matthew. ‘Please just unwrap it. Go on.’

She removed the bubble wrap carefully. When the figure was half-exposed, she stopped, and looked up at Matthew. ‘I really can’t accept this,’ she said. ‘You’re very kind, but I can’t.’

Matthew held up his hands. ‘But why not? Why?’

She looked down at the figure and removed the last of the wrapping. ‘Because I know what this cost,’ she said quietly. ‘And I can’t accept a present like this from somebody I don’t even know.’

Matthew looked down at the floor in sheer, bitter frustration. It was such a familiar experience for him; every time he tried to get close to somebody, it ended this way – with a rebuff. He knew that buying this present was an extravagant gesture, an unusual thing to do, but he thought that perhaps this one time it would work. But now he could see her recoiling, embarrassed, eager to end their brief acquaintance.

He thought quickly. He would be decisive; he had nothing to lose.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I wanted to get you something.’ He paused. He would speak. ‘You see, the moment I saw you, the very first moment, I . . . well, I fell for you. I know it sounds corny, and I’m sorry if that embarrasses you, but there it is. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Nothing.’

She cradled the Meissen figure. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ But then she looked up at him. ‘You’ve been very honest,’ she said. ‘You really have. So I should be honest too. When I saw you, I felt I rather liked you. But . . . But we don’t even know each other’s names.’

‘I’m Matthew,’ Matthew blurted out.

‘And I’m Elspeth,’ she said. ‘Elspeth Harmony.’

Matthew reached out to take the Meissen figure from her. ‘Let’s put this down somewhere,’ he said. Then he asked: ‘What do you do, Elspeth?’

‘I’m a teacher,’ she said. ‘At the Rudolf Steiner School.’

Matthew thought of Bertie. ‘There’s a little boy called Bertie,’ he began. ‘He lives near here. In Scotland Street.’

‘One of mine!’ said Miss Harmony.

70. Domenica enters Antonia’s Flat

Domenica Macdonald was aware that something was happening downstairs. One of the great glories of 44 Scotland Street, she had always felt, was the fact that noise did not travel – with the exception of Bertie’s saxophone practice – and that, as a result, one heard little of the neighbours’ private lives. This was thanks to Edinburgh architecture, and the generosity of construction methods which prevailed during the building of the great Georgian and Victorian sweeps of Edinburgh. In Scotland Street, the walls were a good two feet thick, of which solid stone formed the greatest part.

Used to this as she was, Domenica was always astonished to see the sheer flimsiness of walls in other places, particularly in postwar British construction, with its mean proportions (oppressive, low ceilings) and its