The sun has been a long time setting over Laurence and Angelica's bittersweet love affair and now, as they stare at an autumnal sea from the shelter of one of those theatrical little pavillions that are such a feature on the promenades of resort towns, they realise that if they are ever to come to some understanding of the romance and the violence that have shaped their lives, they have very little time left before- "Wait," says Laurence. "Hold the sunset. Give me time to think." "You've had plenty of time to think," says Angelica. She's had time to think, too- time to wonder why she has stayed with this man for so long when all they have in common is their involvement in a young girl's- "Wait," says Laurence. "Don't give the game away." Angelica sighs and puts her head on his shoulder. "It wasn't our fault," says Laurence. "They were star-crossed. What can you do when people are star-crossed?" Angelica takes his hand. It feels familiar. It feels chilly. Another summer is ending. She knows he is thinking about Juliet and her Romeo, and about the mad chef, Juliet's father. "No," she says. "It wasn't our fault. Then again, maybe it was." The sun's a red ball now, bouncing once, twice, on the line of the horizon. Then it sinks into the sea. "Sometimes I feel like a person in a novel," says Laurence. "Which novel?" asks Angelica. "I don't know. Not this one." The end?