‘Yes, I understand. But…’

She fell silent.

‘What?’ Rodolfo insisted.

But Flavia shook her head in that decisive way she had.

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘It’s none of my business anyway. What do I know about this country, what’s normal and what’s not? I’m just passing through. Another piece of shit working its way through the system.’

Rodolfo chose to regard this as a challenge.

‘Tell me anyway,’ he insisted, rolling over and holding her.

‘No. It would be invadente.’

This gave him a chance to lighten the mood.

‘But you are an invader!’ he declared, clutching his chest with one hand and flinging the other out dramatically. ‘Not only have you invaded my country, but also…’

He was about to add ‘my heart’, but realised just in time that under the circumstances this might not sound like ironic hyperbole but simply hurtful. Lost in her own thoughts, Flavia seemed to pay no attention to the unfinished sentence.

‘He reminds me of…’

She broke off to shake the ash from her cigarette into the saucer by the bed.

‘He’s very beautiful,’ she finally added inconsequentially.

Again Rodolfo made an attempt at humour.

‘Believe me, if I had a single gay gene in my body…’

Flavia seemed uninterested in this speculation.

‘But he’s wicked,’ she said, as if pointing out the logical conclusion of her argument.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Flavia did not seem troubled by either his manner or the question.

‘I probably used the wrong word. Or maybe this thing doesn’t exist here.’

Aradiant smile appeared for a moment, transfiguring her intimidatingly regular features.

‘But you spoke of genes in your body,’ she continued, expressionless again. ‘Well, I have my own genes, and one of them gives me a very clear sense of this thing, whatever you call it.’