“This is probably my working-class roots showing,” said Liza, staring at the menu, “but why would you smoke haddock in peat? Why would you smoke anything in peat?”

“I think it’s supposed to give it a richness?” Hanna didn’t look entirely sure herself. “Or an earthy flavour?”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Of course I don’t—nobody does.” And now she was smiling, although whether it was because she was feeling better or because they were in public and she didn’t want people to look at them the way they’d looked at the Ackroyds, Liza didn’t know. “You think the Etonian pricks I work with actually appreciate fine dining? They like things that other people can’t afford, and that’s all there is to it.”

“So I should stick with the cereal?” Honestly, Liza couldn’t have faced much more than that anyway.

Hanna took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Since the chef watched a man die less than eight hours ago, I think that might actually be safest. In her position I don’t think I’d exactly have my head in the game.”

The door opened and Ruby walked in. Although walked didn’t quite describe it; she glided, she flitted, she barely touched the ground. She was wearing a new dress in the old colour.

“See?” Liza gestured with her fork. “Told you she was real.”

Hanna blinked. “Even now, I’m not sure I believe it.”

“I know.”

She blinked again. “It’s like she’s come to a costume party as the abstract concept of heteronormative sex.”

“I know.”

Normally very much a one-woman woman, Hanna was still staring at Ruby in frank disbelief. “She isn’t even my type and I still want to bite her face to see if she’s a dream.”

“I know, right?” concluded Liza, thankful to know that her wife was beginning to be on at least some of the same pages as her.

Hesitantly, Hanna reached across the table and took Liza’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I’m now a lot more flattered that you turned her down.”