Here they are, dancing around the point of a needle again. Why can’t they just agree to marry and make children together? Or—the other end of the needle—agree to part as friends after this halcyon interlude comes to an end? Maybe it would be simpler if Elfriede were pregnant, a not unlikely outcome after weeks of rapturous fucking, nightly and sometimes daily, in bed and out, filling Elfriede’s womb with the stuff of life. But Nature didn’t take her cue. If he likes, Wilfred can board his train to New York in eight days with warm memories and a clear conscience.

Well, will he? Why haven’t they spoken of his departure at all? They’ve had all the opportunity in the world. True to his promise, Wilfred arrived back at Elfriede’s house just before luncheon the day after his arrival. By dinnertime he’d settled into the most spacious of the spare bedrooms. By nighttime he’d settled into Elfriede’s bed. During the heavenly days that followed, he and Elfriede have spent scarcely an hour apart. He’s won the adoration of Gerhard’s daughters, if not quite that of Gerhard’s son. He’s shared meals and laughter with them, he’s gone on walks and swims and endless picnics, he’s listened to Elfriede play the piano, listened to Elfriede teach the children to play the piano. He’s almost part of the family. Except, of course, he’s not. In all official respects, he’s an ordinary houseguest on holiday. They don’t speak of the steamship ticket tucked in the pocket of his suitcase, but it’s there.

Should Elfriede speak of it now? Wilfred’s face lies near hers, so familiar and beloved she can’t imagine its absence. Can she keep it there? Will she keep it there? That steamship ticket. Does he mean to use it? Does she want him to? Is she still afraid?

The reason Elfriede departed Schloss Kleist in such a hurry all those months ago, packing only the essentials, was Helga.

“I’ve decided to take the children on holiday,” she told her sister-in-law, one morning last autumn. “It will do them good, I think, after all this gloom and misery.”

Helga was aghast. What could Elfriede possibly be thinking? Take Johann away from his home? From his aunts and uncle and cousins? From his education? So soon after his beloved father’s death? Where on earth did she imagine taking the boy?

“Oh, someplace warm, I think, since winter’s coming on,” Elfriede answered. “Maybe Florida.”