He did not answer. He smoked to the end of his cigarette, stubbed it out and lit another, his face so consumed with concentration I wondered if he had forgotten I was there. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, like someone expecting bad news. Finally, Aidan turned to me. His eyes contained a thoughtful expression; I could not guess what he saw in mine.

“Yes, I have been in love,” he said. “I too have discovered that even if the object of one’s passion does not return it, the passion remains unaffected. And even if they misbehave, it is not automatically extinguished. Love is not subject to the usual rules of engagement. It is not organized, like war between nations, or a game of cricket. It is the stirring of deep emotions and includes the pain of having them stirred.”

My heartbeat had slowed during his silence, but now it gathered pace again. I had never heard such words from him before. The grip in which he usually held his feelings had loosened: now, perhaps, whatever lay in his heart was on the edge of release.

“Of course,” he went on, “I understand that an attachment such as you felt for David cannot vanish upon the instant of betrayal. And I am contrite at my flippancy. It is a habit of mine to joke in order to avoid admitting some things are serious. I should curb it, I think.” Unexpectedly, he took my hand. His touch was familiar from the many times we had been in a “clinch” on the film set. I was comforted by it. “I must impress upon you how deeply I regret keeping the truth from you,” he continued. “But I had no idea of the depth of your feelings for David, or that things had gone so far with him. I imagined, along with everyone else at Shepperton, that it was a flirtation.” He was smiling one of his humourless smiles. “Actually, I did broach the subject with Robert once, but he said, ‘My dear boy, if the director’s having a bit of fun with the leading lady, that’s hardly news, is it?’ And he was right, after a fashion. It was not my place to preach to you, so I said nothing.”

I was too crushed to speak. Aidan took a long drag on his cigarette and thought for a moment, then he added, “If we had known he was married, you may be assured we would have warned you.” He gave me a rueful look. “They may be louche, or degenerate in their habits, or vain, and they are definitely tiresome, but film people are generally more moral than they would have you believe. And I did, if you remember, ask you to be careful of yourself.”

“But I did not understand what you meant!” I protested. “I assumed you were jealous!”

“So you thought I had designs on you myself?” He blinked rapidly while he breathed smoke. Crestfallen, he let go of my hand. “You must have a very low opinion of me.”

I did not know what to say. My opinion of Aidan had been revised so many times in the last hour, I no longer knew what it was. “I just wish you’d told me,” I said softly.

“So do I, Clara,” he said with feeling. “God knows, so do I.”