He was tense, his whole body taut, and she snuggled closer and slipped her arms around him. ‘Hey, relax, this is only me,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever it is, it won’t change what I feel about you. Just tell me, and then we’ll talk about it.’ She made it sound so easy—but maybe it was. Maybe he just needed to say it. ‘It was just before our affair,’ he began, and she felt her heart start to pound harder. She’d known it was something to do with that time. Maybe now, finally, she was going to find out why they’d split up. He’d gone to work one morning with a tender kiss and a promise for later, and when he came home that evening, he told her it was all over. No warning, nothing. Finished. And she’d been devastated. ‘It was September, and the weather was glorious,’ he went on. ‘I had a brief affair, with a girl called Kirsten. She was Australian and over here studying art history. She was based in the Uffizi at the time, and she was bright, savvy and we had a fling.
