The party went on while the night grew darker and darker, until the villa resembled a bright planet in a void of blackness. Below, the lights of the town gradually went out; above, there was no more than a sliver of moon. My headache increased to such an agonizing level that I could no longer concentrate on anything but the pain. Apprehension, energetic dancing and several glasses of champagne made me feel as if I were floating – not in a relaxed way, as one does just prior to sleep, but precariously, on something shifting. My limbs seemed separated from my body, and my brain from my head. And still, even though hours passed and people came and went to and from the ballroom and the terrace, David Penn did not appear.

I did not know what to do. If the party broke up before I managed to see him, it might be a long time before Aidan and I would have such an opportunity again. I tried to gather my wits and make an alternative plan, but in the end I sat down on a velvet-covered chair and allowed my head to fall forwards. I felt defeated.

“I am having a wonderful time, Stefano,” I told him, “but I have such a headache! Do you think the party will go on much longer?”

“That depends on what you mean by the party.” He surveyed the remaining guests. “Most of these people will go home in the next hour, but some of us – perhaps you wish to join us? – will make a night of it.”

“Do you mean stay up all night?” I knew it was important that Aidan had pretended to be ill so that he could leave me here alone, but at the same time I wished he had not. I wished I could go home, take some aspirin and go to sleep. But I had to act my part. I raised my head. “Oh, how exciting! Shall we watch the sun come up?”

“If you like.” Stefano scanned the room again, perhaps looking for a particular person. “Now, if you have a headache, don’t you think we should get away from this noise? Let’s go and see who’s in the garden.”

He led me through an arched doorway and down some marble steps. We crossed a courtyard with an ornamental fountain in the middle, to a terraced garden with immaculate lawns. The air was warm; people had brought lanterns from the house and hung them in the trees. Their meagre light revealed a different party altogether. The company was mostly composed of men, but there were a few women sitting on the men’s laps or on the grass at their feet. Dance music was playing quite loudly, though the band had departed by now. I guessed it must be coming from a gramophone somewhere. One couple was dancing, frantically, ahead of the music. They looked almost manic, the girl shaking her head so violently that her feathered headdress had slipped over one eye. Neither she nor her partner seemed to notice.

Empty glasses and cigarette stubs lay on the lawn. Some people were smoking, and some were doing what looked to me like taking snuff. But the substance before them was not brown, and they did not put it on their hand and apply it to each nostril. It was a white powder, like finely ground sugar, and they sniffed it up their noses by means of tubes of paper.

My heart drummed, worsening my headache. Stefano had brought me out here to join the guests who were going to “make a night of it”. Wealthy people looking for a new plaything. People who took cocaine. And then my heart almost stopped. I saw the back of his head – recently barbered, blond – and the instantly identifiable curve of his neck and shoulders. But I was not afraid. In fact, I was excited. At last. At last, David.