OKE WAS ON his way up—he had to fight through the Christmas fair every day to make it up the steps of the Mound to his student halls—when he saw her.

She was bent down, fitting a glove on one child, trying to snatch another to stop him from running off, and laughing with a third. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. He sighed. She looked quite lovely. “Come onnnn, Auntie Carmen” was the anguished cry he now heard from the smallest one. She stood up, rolling her eyes, but with a willing smile that was beautiful to him.

“Hello,” he said, and she whirled around, shocked.

“Oh,” she said, not expecting to see him there. “Hello. How are you? Why are you here? There are almost no trees at all.”

“It’s on my way home.”

“Of course.” She looked up to the beautiful student buildings, gray stone above the city. “I thought you’d gone full Christmas for a minute there.”

“Auntie Carmen, come on!”

The children had burst into the maze.

Carmen looked at Oke. He seemed relaxed in the cold gray light, a bracelet of simple gray beads the only jewelry he wore; he didn’t even wear a watch. He had found from somewhere a large old jumper—a thrift shop, maybe—but it was good quality and suited him. He had also somehow managed to lay his hands on a long scarf that came down past his waist.

He stood out, she thought, from the people streaming around him and drew glances, particularly from the women, for his tall, rangy figure, his face so thoughtful as he took in the crowds thronging in brightly colored padded jackets, everyone in pompom hats, happy faces and excited children racing everywhere. Behind the little train, the great cliff face of Edinburgh buildings rose in front of him. To his left was a great spinning swing that went high in the air, up to the height of the Scott Monument, and every thirty seconds or so it would spin and the screaming would start, regular as clockwork, then it would descend again. The lights of the fairground attractions flashed behind him.

“Do you want to come in the tree maze?” said Carmen, displaying the tickets. “If it’s not . . . forbidden or something.”

He smiled. “It is not forbidden. In fact, it’s practically research.”

INSIDE THE CHRISTMAS tree maze was rather lovely. The sounds and lights of the rest of the huge fair had faded away. The children had grabbed the small cards they had to stamp to win a prize and vanished down the long rows of dark Christmas trees, sprinkled with snow and hung with lights.

“So tell me about firs,” said Carmen.

He smiled. “The Romans put them up. For Saturnalia. In mid-December.”

“Before Christmas.”

“Before Christmas, yes. A lot of things change over the years.”

“Cor,” said Carmen. “Bronagh is right about a lot of stuff.”

“They predate dinosaurs.”