Lilian thrust out her jaw. Much had happened to her since she’d last seen him.

I’d love to come see the house.

She did not like that extra tone in his voice. He had left her twice now, what did he mean by … ? No, it was easy to remain hard to him. Nothing he did would matter in the same way. But there was that telegram unnerving her … For some reason she thought that saying no to him would be admitting he still had power over her.

Call me, she said with a shrug, feeling she gave a pretty good impression of not caring in the least.

So that was the famous Walter Vail, said Gilbert. I expected Valentino.

It surprised her he even remembered Walter Vail. They were in the car, Lilian driving home as she always did after parties.

He has his points, she said. It was what she might have said about any other man and she wasn’t going to make an exception in this case. She would like not to make any more exceptions for Walter Vail.

Gilbert, usually tired and nodding on these drives, was chatting in a slow way about the rare sighting of a Ross’s goose by Chip Cunningham out in Ipswich. Lilian’s thoughts drifted back to the day on the Island, not that she cared to moon over her time with Walter Vail, she’d gone over that enough as it was, but seeing him had reminded her — Gilbert was saying something about the soft bill of a woodcock — and she wanted simply to test his influence on her now. Bits and pieces of the time appeared, floating up out of the dark, the sweater he’d left on the porch railing, the way the wind had died that afternoon, the walk they’d taken in the pines after anchoring by Babbage’s and the ridiculous talk they’d had about mushrooms. She’d pointed out the famous doorway in front of the Lowes’ house, walking home, and then the kiss under the dark leaves …

Watch out, Lily! Gilbert said.

Oh, I didn’t see …

She felt Walter Vail descending on her, looking at her the way a doctor would, checking for any indication of past illness, any sign of lingering fever. She would make sure he did not see anything. She would not waste herself again on him.

As they came into the driveway on the frozen gravel she remembered the tightening of his hand when he said goodnight and despite herself she tightened around the memory of it, telling herself she had to dispose of it, but instead of snuffing it out, she stuffed it away. She opened an old door and put it there.

55 • At Hawthorne’s grave

55 • At Hawthorne’s grave

SHE HAD NO intention of letting him visit. If he telephoned she could make an excuse. But he didn’t ring up, he thumped the brass knocker.