At five-thirty on a Thursday, only three tables were occupied. I was thankful that it was not the kind of place frequented by teenage girls. There was a family with a baby and two men in suits, arguing. At the window sat a pair of retired compatriots of mine, judging from their large-framed glasses and sensible shoes, and the self-conscious way they glanced around. I had already observed two kinds of Americans in London. One believed they had a right to be there by virtue of their ability to pay for things; the other knew they didn’t belong, which gave them an endearing timidity. This couple and I were in the second category, although I was not merely a tourist. I had business in London; I was staying not in a hotel but in the home of a colleague. The father of my child lived here. The phrase had an antiquated ring to it: the father of my child.

Since Maddy died, I had become more timid in certain ways and more intrepid in others. There were times when I could not enter a room if more than two people were in it. There were times when the idea of answering the phone defeated me. And yet in my former life I would not have dared to make a trip like this, to take with me an eccentric stranger, and to wait by myself in a restaurant for the lover I had not seen in eighteen years.

Was it because nothing on earth mattered now, least of all what people thought of me? That was not strictly true. I had spent a long time at the mirror, preparing for Antonio. I’d arranged our meeting on a day when Alison was visiting her aunt in Norwich.

Against the Art Nouveau swirls painted on the windows, it was hard to spot the entrance of a particular individual while appearing not to be looking. People changed a lot in eighteen years. I had never been the kind of woman to dye my hair. I’d earned my threads of silver. I hoped Antonio had not married someone who went out of her way to hide her age.

The door opened. Two women deep in conversation made their way to a table by the window. My pulse slowly returned to normal. I had thought about this encounter for weeks. Dreamed it, planned it, refused to plan it, formulated sentences and facial expressions, mentally erased them, begun again.