They began walking along the stony path. She had been hill-walking before, in Australia, on holidays with her godmothers. She’d seen wild scenery in New Zealand, in the Scottish Highlands. This wasn’t as dramatic. The mountains were more like hills. But as they walked, the wind rising and falling around them, the light changing dramatically, sunshine replaced by silver light, then dark clouds, a constant moving display, she felt herself awed by the beauty of it.

The path led down to a stream, water turned orange-brown by the heather, tumbling into foam as it passed over grey rocks. There were ferns on either side, so many different greens, their fronds unfurling into spring. As Lawrence moved to different locations with his camera, she put her hands into the water. It was icy cold. So clear.

They walked for two hours. He produced chocolate from his coat pocket. Apologised that he hadn’t packed sandwiches, coffee. Told her he was usually more organised on photography trips like this.

It had become darker, the clouds fully covering the sky, blocking the sun. A wind was rising again. There were spatterings of rain. They returned to the car. She only had the weakest signal but she could see she’d had no message from Sheila yet.

He kept driving, over the mountain. Houses began to appear again. They came into a village. A pub was open. Flowers on the windowsills, as there had been at Emmet’s pub. He parked and they went inside. There was a fire crackling in the corner. They ordered hot soup and sandwiches. Again, Lawrence made conversation easy. They didn’t talk about her, or that morning. They talked about travel. She told him about her godmother holidays. He asked her to tell him some of the favourite places she’d visited with them. Remembering those trips, the special times she’d had with Olivia and Maxie, soothed her.

On their journey home, the car was warm, the sky growing dark. Somehow, she slept. They were not far from Trim when something woke her. Her phone. Messages from her godmothers, Rose, Sullivan. And one other. A message from Sheila.

Please come to my apartment at nine a.m. tomorrow. Sheila. An address followed. So businesslike. As if she was confirming a dental appointment.

She read it to Lawrence.

His expression was serious. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’

Eliza didn’t know any more. She hoped it was. There had been no mention of Emmet.

They parked at the back of their hotel. Moments before they walked into the bright busy foyer, she stopped, searching for the words. Where could she begin, to acknowledge all he’d done that day?

‘Thank you, Lawrence. For being so kind.’

His smile was gentle. ‘Any time, Eliza,’ he said.

She couldn’t go up to her room yet. The room where she and Sheila had been, just hours earlier.