Someone had come closer. She stared ahead, wondering if she might be able to ward them off by biting them. But his hand settled on her arms and then there was a slight pressure. She looked at him, trying to find an anchor, and she was looking into two pools of green. There was a fire behind them; not roaring, but something quiet and steady, flickering. She had to close her eyes for a moment. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she just wanted to give into it. But something strung itself through her body, something strong, and she grasped onto it for dear life. Took a breath. Then another.

Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?

Years of feeling things being torn from her grasp; mother, father; love; her art, her blood…and a stranger offers a glimmer of a life raft.

She was sinking beneath the waves, she knew. Cousin Cece was back in Italy running her estate; surely her friends would stay there too; and here Irene was back in fucking England, the place she had fled from only to have it pull her backwards while pulling the fucking carpet from underneath her feet; as if her dress skirts had been lifted and tugged over her head, leaving her splayed out on the ground, a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable and she was sick of it, sick of it.

There was a ringing in her ears. It was too loud, pressing in on her, squeezing her lungs, demanding more.

Control. She had to get back some control.

“What can you offer me?”

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