The car that had driven off the ferry immediately ahead of them was being directed to the side by a pair of customs officers. Another glanced in their direction and raised his hand to indicate that Ralf should wait.

“It looks like there’s something going on,” said Sara. “Like they’re searching for someone or something.”

Ralf glanced nervously at the dog handlers. If those were sniffer dogs they had with them, then he was in trouble. There would inevitably be traces of cocaine or weed on the mats and upholstery in his car. Then the customs officers would search his entire car, and though they wouldn’t find any drugs, there was something else they’d unearth instead.

An officer walked up to the car and asked him to roll down his window.

“Fuck,” muttered Ralf.

“Chill out—it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.”

Ralf didn’t answer. He did as he was told and took his ID out. When he looked up to hand it over, the officer turned away from him and spoke into his walkie-talkie. His colleague stepped forward and instructed Ralf to keep driving.

“Huh?” said Sara.

Ralf hesitated, lifting his eyebrows inquiringly. The man nodded at him. That’s right, drive on.

He continued anxiously, leaving customs and heading for the open road. Drive on the left. The words rang in his ears like a mantra. Left, left.

“It’s so different here,” he heard Sara say. “Those houses. And the white cliffs.” She smoothed her hair down. It had gone a little frizzy overnight.

“Sara, do you think you could concentrate for a moment? Where do we need to go?”

“Oh yeah.” She reached for her phone and looked up the pictures of the route. “You want the M20, toward London.”

“Are you sure?”

She pointed. “There, on that roundabout. First exit.”

“Third,” he corrected her.

He turned left onto the roundabout, closely following a car with a British license plate. It felt incredibly strange—almost as if he were driving a car for the first time in his life.

As he turned jerkily onto the M20, he realized that getting to the hotel in time was by no means his biggest concern. They’d be lucky if he didn’t crash into a guardrail on the way.

2

2

Helen spread some of the hotel’s specialty jam on a slice of Brie and took a bite. “That really is incredible. Do you think they sell this stuff for guests to take home with them?”

“It’s never the same at home. Different ambience.”

That felt improbable—the breakfast already tasted better to her than the Michelin-starred menu from the night before, and they had only just sat down to eat. But maybe Werner was right that it was partly due to the atmosphere in the breakfast room: instead of screeching appliances and bright lighting, there were thick carpets, wood paneling, and huge windows offering cinematic views of the estate.