Marcy’s eyes went down as she considered that. “No, I don’t suppose she would,” she murmured, certain that on some level it was true, “but what I’d really like to see is her having one too.” After a moment she added, “I know I’ve mentioned this before, how she won’t see Dan unless others are around . . . He’s asked her several times now to meet him for lunch, or coffee, but she won’t. I know that in her heart she wants to, but she still hasn’t regained enough confidence to take what she sees as a risk.”

He nodded slowly. “I guess I’m not allowed to ask who made her like this?”

She wanted to tell him, she really did, but she simply couldn’t when she knew that Claudia would never forgive her. “I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his gentle eyes, “it’s not my story to tell, so I can’t. Do you mind?”

Holding her gaze, he allowed his own to twinkle as he said, “Of course not, as long as there are no dead bodies buried anywhere.”

She started to laugh, but as she glanced across the restaurant her face suddenly froze.

“What is it?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder.

Marcy watched the woman who’d just come in and was now handing her coat to the maître d’. Her back was turned, but the glimpse Marcy had gotten of her face, her stocky stature, the shoulder-length brown hair . . .

“Who is it?” Henry asked, following the direction of her eyes.

The woman turned around and Marcy almost gasped as she found herself breathing again. It wasn’t Eugena. Thank God, thank God. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her heart still pounding. “I thought . . . The woman who just came in reminded me of someone, but it’s not her.” She looked at him and seeing his confusion she made herself smile. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “It just gave me a bit of a start. Ghosts from the past, strange timing, and all that. Now, what were we saying?”

His eyebrows arched as he said dryly, “Well, I was asking about dead bodies, and you suddenly looked as though there might be some.”

She managed a laugh. “I know, we were talking about Claudia and New Year’s Eve and how much I’d love to come with you.”

Apparently pleased with this, he said, “Talk to her. Tell her you want to see the show and spend a little time with me, and perhaps she’ll find someone else to celebrate with.”

“WELL, OF COURSE you have to go,” Claudia insisted as she and her mother had breakfast together the next morning. “It’ll be a lovely way to see in the New Year.”

“But what will you do?” Marcy asked, reaching for the toast.

Claudia shrugged. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”