“And how did we do, Miss Sarah? Did you enjoy your lunch?”

“Paulie, it was divine. Thank you.”

“Excellent! I’m so pleased. We will have to have you and James back again soon.” Before I could respond, Paulie leant down and kissed me on both cheeks.

“I’d love that,” I said, laughing a little at his infectious ebullience. I would love to come back here with James sometime. The thought arrived unbidden, but I was starting to think I’d love to go anywhere with James. Uh oh.

Chapter 3

Riding through the streets of inner London in James’s car, I looked out of the passenger window as we passed pristine rows of terraced houses, lush gated gardens, and pubs that had been standing for centuries, their window boxes brimming with bright bouquets of flowers.

London was putting on a spectacular show, and if I hadn’t known better—that she had dark corners where filth and poverty and loneliness dwelled—it was the sort of day that could make me fall in love with her again.

“I’m taking the long way,” said James as he turned onto Bayswater Road. “I just adore Hyde Park.”

I did too and on that day, Londoners were out in full force sunning themselves and revealing a vast array of flesh. Mums and dads with small children pushed prams with fat little feet poking out; business people walked barefoot on the grass with their shoes in their hands; young women wearing swimsuits sunned themselves on towels; and older men and women sat on benches, fanning themselves with newspapers and tossing chunks of bread to the swans.

Everyone in Hyde Park seemed to be making the most of the early autumn sun.

“Are you really not telling me where we’re going?” I asked.

“Don’t you like surprises?” James asked, flicking me an amused look.

“Not really,” I replied honestly. I didn’t like surprises. I liked to know what to expect so I wouldn’t be blindsided. Sure, some surprises were good, but in my experience, most of them were awful, like finding out your boyfriend is sleeping with your yoga bestie. That was Neil the cheating bastard, by the way.

Still, I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. “Sorry,” I said, glancing at James.

He gave me an understanding smile. “Not at all. We’re going to the British Museum. I have a friend who works there and she’s going to give us a private tour of the Parthenon Sculptures.”

Oh, so it was a good surprise. “That sounds amazing, James.” I meant it, but it sounded feeble to my contrite ears.

“Have you been before, to the museum?”

“Oh, for sure. It’s a favourite of mine too.” When I’d lived in London, the British Museum was one of the places I’d retreat to when I was having a hard time. I’d wander slowly around the Great Court or visit the Marbles from the Parthenon. Mostly, though, I went to the Reading Room, sometimes to read, sometimes just to sit quietly. It was the closest I came to meditation.