Irene looked down at the table, where her hand rested; her nails were growing back and the white stripe where her wedding ring had been was gone. She looked at the knots of wood where her fingers pressed, a swirl of honey-coloured patterns. Then traced the golden spiral with her finger. She looked up into Luke’s brown eyes and said softly, ‘And then …’

She stopped dead. A thick snake coiled in her throat and she couldn’t swallow. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead. The air was like a blanket around her. ‘Then …’

‘Yes?’

‘Let’s go now.’

‘You haven’t finished your tart. Or your sentence. Are you all right?’

‘I need to get out.’

He asked for the bill in bad French and insisted on paying – ‘I’m a single man; what else should I do with my money?’ – and they walked out into the soft night.

‘Better now?’

‘Mmm. Shall we go down to the lake? Or do you want to go back?’

They walked down the narrow street that opened out into the town’s main square, then to the pebble beach where earlier Katherine had paddled. From here, they could see their boat, moored among the others. There was enough of a breeze to stir up small waves that slapped gently onto the shore.

Irene bent down and found a flat stone. She crouched and threw it over the water.

‘I can never do it more than once or twice.’

Luke picked up a stone. It skimmed lightly across the lake’s surface: one, two, three, four …

‘It’s a man’s thing.’

‘That’s what Adrian always used to say.’

‘Adrian.’ He had this strange habit of saying a word and letting it settle between them like an object they both had to stare at.

‘At least now I feel alive again. Though that can hurt, can’t it, feeling alive?’

‘Why do you feel alive again?’

‘You know.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No, I won’t tell you.’ She smiled at him. ‘I feel a bit odd.’

‘In what way?’

‘Light-headed. Trembly.’ She held out a hand and it shook slightly. ‘As if I could blow away.’

‘You sound like you’re still hungry.’

She giggled. ‘Hardly.’

‘Are you tired?’

‘Tired? No, not at all. Is it late? Do you want to go back?’

‘No.’

They stared at each other.

‘That’s good,’ she said softly.

‘Mickey …’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing,’ she repeated firmly. ‘Nothing, nothing, nothing.’

They started to wander slowly along the shore, away from the boat and the town. Irene took off her sandals. Holding her skirt up with one hand, she walked through the shallows, the pebbles shifting under her feet, the water cool and silky against her calves.

‘I hope Juliet’ll be all right.’

‘Yes.’

‘Look at the moon low over the water. It’s huge this evening.’