Two years

Their second anniversary was spent in London, a long special meal at Bentley's, a fine fish restaurant near Piccadilly. She wore a beautiful hand-painted silk dress that he had bought her the previous year, a gift posted to her during those agonising weeks of separation following H's heart attack. He had seen it in a catalogue and told her he could just imagine her in it, it was 'made for you.' Yet this special day was bittersweet. The doubt that began back in July had settled over him like a mantle. He was pensive, serious.

'I do worry about you darling, and when I say this it's because I love you so much you must understand that. If you could find someone else I would be devastated for myself, but I believe it may make you happier. I want you to be happy, and I fear I cannot now ever make you happy.'

Late on that anniversary day, holding one another on a park bench in a leafy London square, they talked, they listened to one another. Each showed understanding of the other's position. Each was sick at heart. In a way they agreed they felt trapped. Unable to let go but struggling to carry on as they were. He told her he was selfish to cling to her, not leaving her to love another, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her. However, if she herself left him for someone else...and so the talk went around in circles, until they ended up laughing at themselves.

How could Coppelia fall in love with another, when she was already so in love with him?