The single room was light, large and almost as cold as outside. There was a sweet, resiny smell of wood, and the floor was soft with sawdust. Apart from a glassed-in cubicle to one side, with a metal table that was covered in a mess of papers, everything was about the wood. A long trestle table ran along the room, with all manner of tools spread out on it—small and large saws with vicious-looking teeth, hand planes, rasps, chisels, measuring tapes, hammers, dozens of screwdrivers, boxes of screws and nails and rolls of wire. There were rolls of paper with diagrams on them, and pots of paint and varnish.

Against the walls were pieces of furniture, most unfinished: a beautiful little milkmaid’s stool, a large kitchen cabinet without its doors, a set of simple units lined up to be painted. And there were planks of wood, propped against the walls or lying on the floor, all different colors and grains.

At the end of the room, his back to her, a man in headphones and wearing an orange helmet with a visor was bent over a hefty section of tree trunk with a chainsaw. Bits of bark and flakes of wood sprayed around him as he worked. The teeth sank quickly through the timber, and he straightened up, the saw still humming in his large, gloved hand.

He couldn’t have heard her, but he turned, then lifted the machine as if in greeting, and walked toward her. Only when he reached her did he switch the saw off, lift his helmet and headphones from his head, his dark hair falling forward, scattering splinters of wood. He was sweating in spite of the chill of the room.

“Hello, Vin.”

“Dr. Winters,” he said, and grinned.

He had even white teeth and his chin was dark with stubble. Jude couldn’t tell if he was being friendly or sarcastic.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

“I’m honored.”

Vin put down the saw and rubbed his back. He took a towel off a hook on the wall and wiped his face with it.

“It’s beautiful,” said Jude, gesturing to the room. She meant it: the seasoning wood, the gleaming tools, the skeletons of furniture.

Vin glanced around, furrowing his thick brows.

“Let’s have some coffee. I’ve a flask. It might be a bit tepid though.”

Jude followed him to the cubicle, his feet in their heavy boots ringing on the concrete floor. There was barely enough room for both of them, and she saw to her dismay that alongside the paper-strewn table was a gray metal filing cabinet whose open top drawer was stuffed with bits of paper that looked like invoices and bills. Was there no end to them?

There was an overhead electric heater, but Vin saw her hopeful glance and shook his head.

“Doesn’t work,” he said cheerfully.