Here was a pleasant, light-filled room with French doors opening to a wide stone terrace and the lawn, on which several cricket matches might be played simultaneously, if you didn’t mind hurdling the odd hedge or flowerbed. The friend or two was really five or six, dressed for the country, but Iris’s gaze went straight to the blond woman in the lean, daring trousers and silk blouse, smoking a cigarette, caressing a damp gin and tonic in the other hand. She was the woman at the Desboroughs’ party, the one talking with Philip and Sasha in the library—Iris recognized her at once—recognized also, like a puzzle piece falling into place, she was the woman in the snapshot that Sasha kept in his desk drawer, a perfect match, except her hair was now a different color.

PHILIP WALKED THEM HOME around eleven o’clock. The other guests had left after an hour or two, and still there was no sign of Sasha, so Philip had persuaded Vivian and Iris to stay for dinner—roast chicken grown on the home farm—eat all you want, no ration book—plenty of wine to wash it down. Aunt Vivian did most of the talking. She and Philip got on like a mansion on fire. At half past ten Philip had glanced at the clock and suggested that perhaps Sasha had taken a later train and gone straight to the cottage?

“Oh, the poor man,” said Aunt Vivian. “I’d forgotten all about him.”

So now they tramped back down the lane, through the fragrant meadow that smelled of hay and wildflowers. Tonight the moon was new and invisible, but the stars were bountiful here in the country and they dusted the tips of the grass with silver. Iris listened to Aunt Vivian chatter with Philip. She was flirting shamelessly—probably planned to sleep with him, if only for revenge on her husband. The starlight glinted on his silver hair. His profile was pristine. He looked noble and wise, like a sage. His footsteps made no sound on the dirt.

They reached the cottage. Mrs. Betts had been looking after the children. She seemed surprised to see Philip—gave her report with many a nervous glance and then retired to her room. There was no sign of Sasha.

“I wouldn’t worry.” Aunt Vivian yawned. “I expect he went out with a friend or two.”

“That’s why I’m worried.” Iris turned to Philip. “Before you leave, I was hoping to have a word with you?”

“Certainly.”

Aunt Vivian gave Iris a wise look. “I guess that’s my cue, then. Good night, chums. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Philip laughed and said he imagined that left a wide range of possibilities.

When Aunt Vivian’s footsteps creaked up the stairs, Iris turned to Philip. “She’s so outrageous. I apologize.”