No one tried to burgle us. No one came to the apartment offering money for the photographs. David, it appeared, was waiting for a lawyer in America to send him an important package. He knew when he was beaten.

Aidan spent the next few days photographing Castiglioncello, and using the motorcycle to take his camera further afield too. His intention was to set up a photography business. Photography was the art of the future, he told me. I had promised to go with him, wherever he went, but he gave no clue as to where he, and his business, might be.

Barely a year ago, I had felt myself to be on the threshold of life, poised to make my name as a film actress. I had been convinced the world waited to adore me every bit as slavishly as it adored Gladys Cooper or Lilian Hall-Davis. But now, I was not convinced of anything. I was still on the threshold of life – I had turned nineteen a few weeks ago – but what lay before me?

The feeling of fascination with, and revulsion towards, the world of film-making had not disappeared. In fact, it had grown stronger. What I had told David in the ballroom of Giovanni’s villa was the opposite of the truth. I did not want to do what film people did. I had no wish to go to parties at Le Grenier and sniff cocaine and get drunk. I loved the film-making itself, but I did not love the life that went with it. And there seemed no way of avoiding that life. A film star, whatever she might do to prevent it, was of interest to the public and would have to do what the public wanted. She must appear exquisitely dressed at lavish events, conduct romances with other film stars while coyly denying it, and give interviews to women’s magazines in which she gave tips on smoothing the complexion and curling the hair. In private, she must endlessly fight off lascivious men offering her their money and their bodies – and the little screws of white powder in their pockets.

I could not do that.

Opening the doors to the balcony, I stood there in full sunlight, watching flocks of swifts circling in the radiant sky. In the distance I heard a rumble, and shaded my eyes. There, trailing a little cloud of dust, was Aidan on the motorcycle, putt-putting down the hill to the town. A wave of affection swept over me. I knew in my heart that if I were to keep my promise, I would have to trust Aidan the way I had trusted David. To be a gentleman. To resist the desire to take advantage of my youth and inexperience. To love me.