Coco Santini did not look at her but strode across the flagstones in his silent shoes to the three French windows that gave on to the terrace and threw open their shutters, one by one, letting the afternoon heat and the sound of the cicadas into the room. ‘It stinks of spinsters in here.’Alice stood near the fireplace and watched. When he had finished he went and sat down on one of the frail pieces of upholstered furniture that were arranged around the fireplace. It was a sofa that offered room for no more than two people of average build. He spread his arms out along the back. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ His voice was very deep. It sounded as if he had not been wound up properly. For the first time Alice felt her own tiredness washing over her pleasantly and leaving her a little worse off. She went and sat opposite him on a small, uncomfortable chair with thin, bowed legs. A circular rug with a pattern of garlands in pink, yellow and red lay between them.
