The town car took her to the hotel and shopping complex called Fitger’s. That would be her home while she assessed her future. Archie had arranged a press conference at his office the following day, but she needed at least one day and night of privacy. Anonymity. He’d already checked her into the August Fitger suite on the hotel’s top floor, with a king bed, whirlpool tub, and a view toward the vastness of the lake, and he’d stocked the room with clothes and toiletries. When they arrived, he handed her an old-fashioned key.

‘I’ll call you in the morning,’ Archie said, ‘but contact me if you need anything at all.’

‘I will. Thank you.’

‘You might need cash, so here you are.’

He gave her five hundred dollars. And still there was doubt in his eyes.

Janine didn’t go to her room. She’d been locked up for too long to lock herself inside again. With sunglasses hiding her face, she shopped both levels of the complex. She bought an expensive bottle of white wine and a hand-blown Hungarian wine glass. Downstairs, at the bookstore, she selected a long literary novel to pass the evening. The blond-haired manager was friendly, but Janine was pretty sure the woman recognized her. Even so, she was discreet.

After an hour, she went upstairs to her suite, opened the wine, and drank. She dragged an armchair to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared at the majestic blue water. Five stories below her, people wandered the boardwalk, and children screamed and laughed. It was summer – the perfect season. A ship came in under the lift bridge. A ship went out.

Still she drank. Soon she was buzzed, and some of the weight lifted from her shoulders.

She didn’t know how long she’d been drinking alone when she heard a knock at the suite door. There was no doubt in her mind who it was. She’d told Archie it was okay to let him know. She got up, feeling wobbly, and made her way to the door and opened it.

‘Hello, Howard,’ she said.

‘Janine.’ He said it in a hushed voice, like someone standing in front of a Michelangelo sculpture.

He had flowers in his hand, a sunny bouquet of yellow roses, white daisies, and purple irises. He wore a suit that was old but had been recently cleaned and pressed. A faint grease stain marred his blue tie. His penny loafers had been shined. His center-parted hair rose high on his forehead and nestled in brown curls.

He handed her the flowers, and she said, ‘How sweet. Thank you.’

She found that she was almost glad to see him. Everything had changed in her life, but Howard was the constant, and there was something comforting about him. She felt warmth that wasn’t really affection but may have been gratitude. She pulled him by the elbow into the suite and shut the door.