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often with difficulty, from this remote Yorkshire house to secret rooms in Africa, where brave men were conspiring to end a century of imperial oppression. And once you were put through, the whole mysterious continent might have lain steaming just the other side of the Pennines. His heart beat high in his chest when he considered how he had cycled out to High Sugden and stumbled on these new horizons. He was a privileged insider, close to the start of what might be world-shaking events.
    Yet his images of Africa were coloured by Hollywood and Rider Haggard and the comic books of his childhood. Emmanuel was the first actual African he had met. In no way did that engaging man resemble the cinema’s leopard-skinned warriors and witch-doctors, but surely no one could call him typical? And what about that mask over the sitting-room fireplace? Its barbarousgrimace had left him wondering whether Africa might not still be more preoccupied with superstition and magic than with politics.
    Yet Martin was too hungry for a larger sense of life to dismiss everything Adam said as fantasy. And too canny to swallow it whole. So he drew in his breath and marshalled the first arguments he could find against his friend’s overwhelming ardour. Then he applied himself to learning, fast.

3
Sibilla
    I came awake to the sight of a woman in a black swimming costume at the edge of the pool. She was drying her tanned thighs with a white towel. A fuzzy aureole of sunlight glittered off her limbs. From the mouth of the lion, water poured loudly into the slipper bath. The sun had shifted. When I sat up, she turned to look at me.
    â€œAh, you are awake at last,” said Gabriella.
    â€œHave I been asleep long?”
    â€œYou were dreaming when I arrived.” She removed the swimming cap and shook her hair free. “I hope it was a good dream.”
    â€œI don’t remember anything about it.”
    â€œThen you must try to catch it by the tail, quickly, before it vanishes.”
    Massaging the back of my neck with one hand, I said, “If it’s anything like the last one, I’d rather let it go.”
    She studied me a moment as she dried her upper arm, eyes narrowed, lips lightly pursed in disapproval. She draped the towel over her shoulders, closing its edges with one hand across her breasts. “Even troubling dreams mean well by us. We should hear what they have to say.”
    â€œOh dear,” I said, “are you some kind of therapist?”
    â€œThat would please you less than my being a contessa?” She laughed at my embarrassment. “Did not some clever person say that all professions are a conspiracy against society?” she said. “I agree with him.”
    â€œPerhaps you can afford to.” The doze, the beer, my frustration at the unanticipated delay, my reluctance to be in Umbria at all– this dislocating mix had made me needlessly rude. She knew it, and I regretted it.
    â€œIn any case,” she replied, “is it not good to take an interest in the mysterious facts of our condition? I enjoy working with dreams as I enjoy good conversation or swimming. As I enjoy eating also. Look, Orazio has laid out lunch for us. There is salad, cheese,
prosciutto
and bread. If you like, he will make us omelettes with
tartufi neri
. It will taste of Umbria, I promise. The truffles were gathered this morning.”
    â€œI trust the dew is still on them?”
    After a moment, she smiled in response. “Excuse me while I find a robe.” If she was conscious of my gaze as she walked away, it did not trouble her.
    The robe was silk, its design Japanese. Under the shade of a mulberry tree, we ate at the marble table in the heat of the afternoon. The Contessa was talkative about everything except Adam and Marina, but I was enjoying her company and in no hurry to ruffle our conversation with pressing questions. Once we had agreed how delicious were the black
frittate
that Orazio had cooked