We finished our bath together, went through to the changing room and dressed. At the top of the gymnasium steps, we clasped hands. If Helena Justina's father was as shrewd as I suspected, he could tell from my face how bitter I felt.
He hesitated awkwardly. 'Will you be coming to see her?'
'No.' One way or the other, that made me out a sewer rat. A lonely occupation. 'But tell her-'
'Falco?'
'Forget it. Better not.'
The father of his future grandchild should be the happiest man in Rome. What price the pathetic candidate who had made it plain he was not required to acknowledge his position?
Well be reasonable. Nobody could expect such a highborn Roman lady-father in the Senate, two brothers on active service, adequate education, passable face, property worth a quarter of a million in her own right-to own up that she had allowed herself a dalliance with a low-bred, uncivilized brigand from the Aventine like me.
It was late. It would soon be dark. I had the restless feet of a man who needed to visit his ladyfriend but could not bear to go. The obvious alternative was to plough into a wineshop and drink so deep I would only have to worry whether anyone good-natured would point me in a homeward direction afterwards, and if they did, whether I could stagger as far as my apartment or fall down dead drunk in the road.
I went to the Palace instead.