Kathleen Tessaro 3-Book Collection: The Flirt, The Debutante, The Perfume Collector. Kathleen Tessaro

Leticia shook her head. ‘You do realize you’re seventy? Thirty-five-year-old male nurses are dangerous for your health. Or has no one told you?’

      ‘Stay near the young and a little rubs off. Are you staying for lunch?’

      ‘What are we having? Pickles and fish fingers?’

      ‘Well, I’m having ice cream. But we could ring Bartolli’s around the corner and pick up an order of minestrone if you like. Or spaghetti.’

      Leticia filled the sugar bowl. ‘That’s OK. It’s a little late for lunch; it’s gone three. God, Leo, when was the last time this floor was washed? That’s not like you.’ She peeled off her coat, throwing it on top of the radiator. ‘Where do you keep a bucket and some bleach?’

      ‘Under the sink, O She of the Hardened Heart.’ He spooned in another mouthful of chocolate ice cream. ‘I adore Juan for his mind. Which reminds me, how is your young man?’

      ‘Hughie?’ Leticia filled the bucket with hot water and detergent. The smell of lemons filled the kitchen.

      ‘Yes, Hughie.’

      She smiled. ‘Oh, he’s all right.’

      ‘You’re blushing!’

      ‘No, I’m not!’

      ‘Yes, you are! Bright red!’

      She pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘It’s the steam from the water!’

      ‘Steam, my arse!’ Leo waved his spoon triumphantly. ‘You like him!’

      ‘Do not!’

      ‘Do too, you great big nanna! All I have to do is mention the boy’s name and you turn into a beetroot!’ He began to cough, then to choke, clutching the side of the table.

      Leticia thumped him on the back.

      ‘Pardon me!’ he gasped.

      ‘Serves you right! Now out!’ She ushered him into the living room, ice cream in hand. ‘Feet up, on sofa while I scrub this floor, understand? And if that cough isn’t better by tomorrow, I think we should call the doctor. You could have a chest infection.’

      ‘Bollocks! This isn’t the last act of La Traviata. You’re changing the subject and you know it!’

      ‘So what if I am?’ She piled cushions at one end for him to lie down on and turned on the television. ‘What do you want to watch?’ She flicked through the channels. ‘Richard and Judy? Through the Keyhole?’

      ‘Why are you so afraid to admit it?’

      ‘Because there’s nothing to admit. I have a system in place, Leo. Hughie’s lovely; he’s fresh, keen, delightful. But just like milk, men go off. Of course I like him; he’s charming. But what I don’t like is sour milk.’ She checked the date setting on her wristwatch. ‘I give him another two weeks, tops. Then I’m afraid he’s going to have to go.’

      She winked at Leo.

      But Leo wasn’t smiling back. ‘This isn’t a good look, darling.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’ She pretended to concentrate on the television. ‘What’s this? Reruns of ER?’

      He sat down, took her free hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. You know that, don’t you?’

      ‘Let’s not go there.’

      ‘He was ill. That’s all. Just terribly, terribly ill.’

      She pulled her hand away. ‘Enough. We’re not going to discuss this again, understand?’

      He shook his head. ‘It breaks my heart to see you like this.’

      ‘Like what? My God, Leo! I’m fine! Look at me! Running my own business, successful, cute young lover! I’ve got a life most women would kill for! Now, do you want to watch these sexy doctors, yes or no?’

      He sighed, settling back onto the sofa. ‘Absolutely not! The costumes – so dreadful! All those white lab coats!’

      ‘Couldn’t agree more. Oh, look! A showing of The Red Shoes on Channel Four. That looks like your scene.’

      ‘Perfect.’ He squinted at the television. ‘God, I can’t see a thing! Is that a car or a chorus girl?’

      She passed him the remote. ‘Where are your glasses?’

      ‘In the bedroom. Do you mind, angel? I don’t like Juan to see me wearing them.’

      Leticia found his glasses on his bedside table, next to a row of unfamiliar prescription medicine bottles. She came back into the living room and handed them to him. ‘I see you’ve already been to the doctor. What did he say?’

      ‘Thank you, darling. Sorry, what was that?’

      ‘The doctor. Have you seen him already?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Juan made me go. Complete waste of time.’

      ‘What did he say?’

      ‘Bed rest, liquids, the usual malarkey.’

      ‘I see. Well, then, you’d better rest. And I’ll make you a cup of tea. After all, I need you back at the shop as soon as possible. That romance novelist wants a Barbie-pink Empire-line nightdress with purple trim.’

      Leo winced. ‘How revolting!’

      ‘And she’s a size twenty and only about four feet tall!’

      ‘Fantastic! I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Something with a bit of give, I hope.’

      ‘Me? I’m counting on you!’

      He smiled up at her. ‘And I’m counting on you. I do love you. Do you know that?’

      ‘I know.’ She bent down and kissed his forehead. ‘And me you.’

      Leticia went back into the kitchen.

      Leaning against the kitchen counter, she looked out of the window at the beautiful façade of the Opera House across the street.

      The last time she’d been there was with him; The Marriage of Figaro, her favourite opera. All that wonderful music; all the couples neatly paired at the end.

      It was a warm summer’s evening; they’d sat in the stalls at great expense.

      He’d been distant, distracted that night. He’d lost so much weight, though he still looked handsome in his white blazer, navy shirt.

      She winced.

      It was the details that devastated. The ice cream they’d shared at the interval; the wooden fan he’d bought her at the shop. He’d made such an effort. She thought it might signal a new beginning for them.

      She couldn’t have known that he was marking time, even then, sitting in the dark theatre, holding her hand; that he was just counting the days until the end.

      Taking a dry mug from the draining board, she filled the kettle up, put in a fresh tea bag.

      Real life goes on. Hearts are broken every second of every day. But real life marches on, regardless.

      She’d survived. She thought she wouldn’t. There had been days, weeks where she’d thought she’d go insane with grief and loss; the sheer senselessness of it all.

      But she hadn’t.

      She’d limped until she could walk, walked until she could run and then run as hard and fast as she could ever since.

      ‘And now I’m new and improved,’ she reminded herself, pouring the boiled water into the mug, pressing the tea bag up against the side with a spoon.

      The person who wasn’t new and improved was Leo.

      He was getting old. She tried to ignore