The Villa in Italy. Elizabeth Edmondson

had Jessica said, to cause such a look of pain on George’s face? Marjorie looked at him intently. ‘I know what kind of scientist you are. You’re an atom scientist,’ she said.

      He looked taken aback. ‘I’m a physicist…yes, you could call me an atom scientist. It is what the press like to call us. My field is isotopes.’

      Isotopes? Did isotopes have anything to do with making the bomb? Probably. Then he was that kind of atom scientist. And one with a conscience by the look of it, poor man. She’d often wished she had a gift for science, a clear, cerebral world, so much easier, surely, than her own field, she’d always thought. Now, looking at George, she realised that was a facile judgement. Haunted; he was a haunted man.

      A gong sounded, making them all jump. Then Benedetta’s chivvying voice, the tone unmistakable, even if the words meant little to them.

      ‘Dinner, I think,’ said George, attempting a smile.