The castle outlined itself against a cloudless sky. The vapour trails of planes passing over the city formed an awkward diagonal cross.

Anna and Barry were arguing. He should not look at other women like that, never mind if they were tourists or not. And she did not care that she had thought Nelson Mandela was a fictional character. Fictional, dead, what did it matter?

Once again he turned and went into the gallery to calm down. She watched him go, shook her head and went to wait for him in the café. She ordered him a scone.