The leafy foliage of the forest is rustling gently in the morning breeze, the musky smell of nature heavy in the air. There is no other sound apart from birdsong as the dawn chorus stirs. I close my eyes and reminisce about the night before and how perfect it was. After we could eat no more, we sat on the veranda in front of the dining room, discussing everything and nothing under a sky so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Tucked up here, away from civilization, there was no light pollution to ruin the view or hide the sheer magnitude of stars. It was just breathtaking. He told me more about his mother, although he was reticent to discuss his life in the aftermath of her death. I wanted to sit with him and talk all night, but he insisted we both turn in, separately, just after eleven. He said we needed our sleep for the day ahead, but wouldn’t tell me why. I thought the curiosity would keep me awake but I slept easily and quickly. A full stomach, a comfortable bed, and fresh country air will do that to you.

When my tea is long gone and the cup has cooled, I wander back inside and check my phone. It is only just after six-thirty, so I decide to have another spa bath. May as well get as much use out of it as I can while I’m here, I figure. I have been in it for half an hour, reading one of the books off the shelf in the room—left by a previous guest, I think, judging by the well-loved state of it—when there is a knock on the door. Immediately I feel delirious and light-headed. James. I wrap a towel around myself and walk as quickly as I can to the door, pausing before I open it to take a deep breath and compose myself. Then I open it, a wide smile on my face.

“Good mor—Oh.”

It’s not him. My smile slips slightly.

“Good morning.” Mary smiles. “I hope you slept well?”

“Yes. I did, thank you. The bed is very comfortable.”

“Good. Mr. Gable wanted me to pass on a message to you.”

My heart quickens at her words, but with fear this time. “A message? Why? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything other than I am to give you this.” She passes me an envelope.

“Thank you.” I take it, desperate to open it and find out what is going on, but I wait, impatiently, until she has started to walk away. Then I rip open the back of the envelope, letting it drop to the floor as I unfold the piece of paper within. There is handwriting scrawled across it, James’s, I assume, although I’ve never seen his before. The letters are large and brisk, no nonsense. Like him.

Dear Ava,

I know I’m probably driving you a little crazy with all the surprises by now, but bear with me; because I have one more. When you are ready, go to reception. They’ll tell you what to do from there.