25.

She made all the arrangements smooth, as is so often her way. I said, 'Is it you? Is it really you?' and little else. She arranged for the guide at the top of the tower to radio down to those at the bottom of the tower to stop incoming and outgoing traffic while we gingerly, with stiff legs and braced arms, made our way down. I said, 'But is it you? How are you here?' And she said, 'Yes. Yes, it is. Now concentrate.' Her boyfriend, Seth, a double bass player, an Australian, offered to support me. I refused initially, but when it became obvious I wasn't going to be walking anywhere without help he slipped an arm around my waist and took part of the weight of my body. He appeared fairly good-natured about this enterprise, telling me I hardly weighed more than his instrument. I couldn't think of any appropriate response to this news.

At the bottom of the tower, we collapsed on the grass I found I could support myself fairly well with my stick on the level and Seth brought gelati and packs of crisps.

'So, James,' he said, 'I've heard a lot about you.'

I nodded and attempted a smile.

'Are you the one who's a quazillionaire?'

Jess touched his arm lightly. Her skin was paler than his, the contrast clear when her fingers rested in the springy blond hair on his forearm.

'No, darling,' she said, 'that's Mark. He also lives in Italy though. Or is that still right?'

I nodded. 'Yes,' I said, 'we live here.'

I looked at Seth, with his disarmingly open features topped by a mass of dirty blond hair. He reminded me in looks of Jess's first boyfriend, Christian, whose picture I had seen in a scrapbook in her bedroom. I tried to remember what the first violin from her orchestra had looked like. I wondered if the memory I came up with, of a ham-faced man with a pug nose, ruddy features but, yes, blond hair, was of the right man. Had I been the only aberration in her collection?

'James?' said Jess.

'Hmmm?' I had evidently missed something while contemplating Seth.

'I said, if we get a cab into town, do you think you could sit comfortably on the ride?'

I could hardly bend my knee. Still, I would have to go back to the town eventually. I nodded.

They looked well together, Jess and Seth, relaxed in one another's company. He was at least twice as broad in the shoulder as she I imagined what he must look like when performing. Like a gorilla in evening dress, constantly threatening to burst the buttons and beat on his chest like Tarzan. I thought again of what Mark had told me, about Jess's infidelity. It seemed that Jess had sprung directly from my thoughts, like a demon summoned by a magician to answer a particular question.

It was only when we were in the car that I thought to pose the question myself. I was in the front passenger seat. I pulled down the vanity mirror and peered at them in it. His arm was resting casually on her thigh, her hand on top of his.

'Why are you here?' I said.

They glanced at each other, then Jess smiled.

'Sightseeing,' she said.

Seth looked at her.

'We have a couple of weeks' rehearsal break and we thought we'd do churches and cathedrals of southern Italy. How amazing that we should run into you!'

And did you, I wanted to ask, sleep with the first violin of your orchestra, what was his name, something like Rudolph, in Michaelmas term of our third year?

I imagined asking the question. I imagined what she would do in response. Would she blush? Would she deny it? Would her denials be honest? Would I be able to tell?

It occurred to me that she might deny nothing. She might say, 'Yes, I did. What right have you to ask? You slept with Mark.' But it was impossible to ask the question of her.

We found a place in a restaurant on the square. Jess asked me again whether I wanted to find a doctor to look at my knee but I repeated that I did not. Seth looked between us, a mildly interested expression on his clear, broad face. We ordered food, then Jess excused herself for a moment, leaving Seth and me alone.

I looked at him surreptitiously while pretending to peruse the menu. His strength was visible in his broad shoulders and powerful calves. In his T-shirt and shorts he looked as though he might have strolled in from a weightlifting competition. I wondered how he managed to play his instrument without smashing it to matchwood.

'So what do you do then, James?' he asked.

A waiter brought us beers and antipasti.

'I teach,' I said. I speared a prawn with my fork and bit into it.

'Ah, right,' he said. 'In a school?'

'No.' I shook my head. I could feel my mouth becoming tighter. 'I teach English to private pupils.'

'Ah,' said Seth, and took a mouthful of beer, foam just touching his upper lip. 'And you live with the quazillionaire?'

I nodded.

Seth smiled broadly. 'Pay much, does it, teaching?'

'Not a lot, no.'

Seth nodded and took another swig.

'That must be kind of tough for you. Living with someone so rich. When you're not rich yourself, that is.' He popped three olives into his mouth at once.

I found myself wishing, for the first time in twenty-four hours, that Mark was there. His presence always discourages these macho pissing contests. No one wants to compare wallet size with him. Jess precluded further such conversation by returning to the table.

'James,' she said, sitting down and smoothing her trousers with her characteristic, stiff-handed gesture, 'you must tell me all your news.'

News, I thought, news. What a curious concept. Of course, other people's lives moved on in this way. There was news of promotions, of marriages and children, of new purchases longingly saved for, of holidays planned, business ventures undertaken, dreams brought closer or abandoned. So much of 'news' is really about money. The getting of it, the spending of it, the hoarding and increasing of it. Once all possible money has been obtained, what is left of news? Only love affairs, procreation and the passing enthusiasms which substitute for other people's employment.

'We're planning a trip to the mountains,' I said, knowing how little it was to show for several years of my life. 'In the autumn, probably. We'll rent a chalet near the border.'

'Sounds nice,' said Jess, stirring her coffee. 'Do you travel a lot?'

I remembered the time, about three years earlier, when, after watching a late-night National Geographic programme Mark had developed a burning desire to see Peru. For days he was full of excitement about Machu Picchu and the sites of human sacrifice, talking with glee about the marvellous Incas and the wicked Spanish who had forced them to stop their wholly excellent practices. He booked plane tickets within the week, and paid for hotels and excursions from Lima, but the day before we were due to go to Rome to start the first leg of the journey he changed his mind. Sulking, he said that he'd rather stay home after all, and no persuasion of mine could move him from his bed. When the time came the next day for the planes we were supposed to be on to depart I thought of how I would have behaved if I had paid for the tickets with my own money, if I had had to scrimp and save to afford them, to dream for months of the trip. This is a feature of wealth: by allowing one to do more, it prevents one from doing anything.

'No,' I said, 'we don't travel a great deal.'

There was a long silence.

Eventually, realizing it was expected, I said, 'What about you? Do you have news? How are your family? How's Franny?'

Jess smiled. 'Hmmm ... news.' She put her hand to her lips; her nails were neatly manicured, with pale pink polish, perfect half-moons of white at the tips of her fingers.

'You know Simon asked Franny to marry him?'

I shook my head. It was like hearing about events on Mars. I could hardly believe that lives continued in this sensible, joyful fashion.

'She said no. Well, first she said yes and then she said no, so it was a bit difficult. They got back together after, well, you know ' she looked down 'after Daisy. She said it was too much, too fast, too intense. I understood what she meant, but Simon obviously didn't take it well. In a way, I can see what he meant too. I mean, they've known each other for more than ten years, so it's hardly too fast, is it?'

I shook my head, unsure of how to respond.

'Anyway, it's all done now. Franny's teaching something clever at Harvard: psychology of consumption. Oh, and I think she's a lesbian now. Or bisexual. She's in a relationship with a neuroscientist woman anyway. Her name's ... ummm ... Rachel something. She wrote a very popular book How to Work Your Brain? Something like that.'

'And Simon?'

She pursed her lips. 'He's back to the usual. Working all hours I think he's in Rio now. The last time I saw him he brought along a French lawyer called Beatrice very glamorous, about six feet tall. But I can't see it lasting really.'

I nodded.

'Emmanuella's become rather unexpected. You remember she was seeing that man with fifteen titles and a pedigree back to the thirteenth century?'

'Mmm-hmmm.'

'Well, she broke it off. No one quite knows what happened, because he was absolutely the best catch her parents could have envisaged. I think they were pretty cross. She went a bit strange, actually it was a few months after ... after you and Mark left the country. She kept sending me bits of cloth blessed by saints, and now she's gone off to volunteer in Africa. With nuns, if you can believe it, working with AIDS patients.'

I blinked. I tried to imagine glamorous Emmanuella working with the terminally ill in Africa.

'Oh!' said Jess suddenly. 'Do you remember Leo? Simon's little brother? The one Mark rescued from drowning?'

How could I possibly not remember Leo? He was Mark's one good deed, his saving grace.

'Can you believe he's off to college next year?'

'God, not Oxford?'

Jess laughed, then stopped and flicked her eyes towards Seth and then back to me again.

'No,' she said. 'Not Oxford. Agricultural college. In Wales. He's turned out rather the healthy outdoors sort.'

'That's great,' I said, and meant it. I found this thought pleasing of little Leo grown to manhood, healthy and strong.

'And how,' said Jess, 'is Mark? How are you and Mark?'

I looked down at the table, then up at Seth, his smooth face still blandly interested.

'We're fine,' I said brightly. 'Still the same, just fine. Nothing much to report.'

She looked at me and chewed on her upper lip. The clock in the square tolled out the quarter-hour with sonorous slowness.

'Seth, darling,' she said. 'James and I have a few things to talk through. Could you maybe get me some of those soaps we saw in the little shop by the harbour this morning? I want to give some to Granny.'

Seth gave me a thoughtful look, as if he were deciding precisely how quickly he could knock me cold should it prove necessary.

'Right-o,' he said, and leaned over to give her a swift kiss on the mouth. I felt emotions rising in me at this to which I had no right at all. With his water-bottle carrier slung over his shoulder, Seth loped off towards the harbour.

'Don't mind Seth,' she said. 'He's only a bit jealous. He doesn't mean any harm.'

I nodded and made a noncommittal noise.

'He knows we were together for a long time and he's worried you might have gone stalker, that's all.'

Jess poured herself a glass of red wine and held it up to the sun.

'Look,' she said. 'What were you doing climbing that tower today? With your knee? Were you following us?'

'Yes,' I said simply. Then, thinking that this needed some explanation: 'I saw you from a distance. I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure, so I followed. OK?'

She traced the edge of the ashtray with one fingertip.

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'My turn?' I said.

'OK.'

'Why are you here? Why are you in San Ceterino, really?'

She looked up swiftly and then down again.

'We're here on holiday,' she said.

'Here? Of all places?'

'We are,' she said. 'We had holiday, we wanted to do something with it. And Italy's so lovely at this time of year.'

'And that's the only reason you're here?'

She frowned.

'Well, there's also ' she spoke quickly 'Nicola's getting married again. In the autumn, she's marrying a Yorkshireman, a farmer. We're all invited to the wedding well, Franny and Emmanuella and me and Simon of course. And it made me think of you both, and how someone should tell you, and I suppose I could have written but you never answer letters, so Seth and I were planning a holiday and I thought if we came here for a couple of days maybe we'd, you know, bump into each other. Which we did. So ...'

She trailed off and went back to playing with the cocktail sticks on her side plate.

I wondered if her answer contained the same measure of truth as mine.

'And that's all you wanted to tell me? That Nicola's getting married?'

'I thought maybe you'd write to her. I know that Mark wouldn't. But I thought maybe you could just tell her ... well, that's what I thought, anyway.'

The evening chimed around us. A flock of doves paced the piazza floor, pecking at stones and crumbs. Across the square an accordion player started up a melody with lambent brio. Three children chased over the paving stones.

Jess raised her hand to my face and traced her finger around the outline of the blossoming bruise. The sensation reminded me so strikingly of the first times we had touched in Oxford that it made me hold my breath.

'James, what's this?' she said.