Lex’s expression shifted. He looked around pensively. Rubbed his forehead. “Helen, I’ve asked you before if you wanted to come out with me for dinner or a drink.” He lifted his hand apologetically. “You didn’t want to, and I understand why. You’re married, I’m single, people talk . . . But I don’t see any harm in it. Really.”

She was silent for a moment, allowed his words to sink in. “Maybe you’re right,” she said softly.

His face brightened. “So you’ll come out with me?”

“Just for dinner, OK?”

“Of course. What else did you think we were going to do?”

Despite everything, she had to smile.

12

12

What was that all about, Ralf?

Such a joke.

Ralf scrolled somberly through the messages Naomi had sent him over the last hour. Floris and Sara hadn’t split a taxi with her. After his sudden departure, they’d become totally absorbed with each other and had barely noticed that Naomi was still there. She’d gone home on the bus. Alone.

Ralf liked Sara less and less. But he was the one who had disappeared so abruptly.

Sorry. I mean it. I’ll make it up to you.

Ralf laid his phone on the passenger seat next to him and looked through the window. His car was parked on a small shoulder. Diagonally opposite, close to the road and partly concealed behind tall trees and perfectly maintained boxwoods, stood a large, thatched farmhouse. “The Horn of Plenty” was written on the roof in illuminated lettering. This was the biggest of the four restaurants. Brian used to work here. At the front, the building bordered slightly on the road. To its left was a broad driveway, and immediately behind that was a large parking lot surrounded by shrubs and a tall hedge. The office was also at the back, as Ralf knew, with a separate entrance.

It was a gamble, but there was a good chance Werner Möhring would finish his rounds here. And then he would have the daily takings for all four restaurants with him.

Ralf’s phone buzzed again.

I’m not that kind of girl.

He immediately tapped out a reply.

I know.

Ralf sat and stared at his phone. No response. His thumbs hovered over the screen as if paralyzed. She had read his message, but she wasn’t answering.

He pursed his lips and typed:

I care about you.

He had never said that to a girl before, let alone admitted it in writing. But she wouldn’t know that, of course.