“Don’t be. It was a long time ago,” he said in a way that made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. Ruby didn’t think three years was very long, but what did she know about grief? In some ways, she felt, she was very lucky indeed.

Gregor said, “But Leonie, she’s got potential. You could teach her, couldn’t you? I’d pay you, of course.”

“I could, but she’s a bit too little now. When they’re little you just need to sing to them. How old is she exactly?”

Ruby had directed the question to Constance, but the other woman hadn’t noticed. She was concentrating on coiling a strand of hair around a finger, watching as it slipped around and back, around and back.

Gregor cleared his throat and said, “She’s not quite two.”

They both looked over at the child, who might have been able to sing in tune but wasn’t even walking yet. Something worried Ruby slightly about that. She vaguely remembered a video of herself, on her first birthday, running across a lawn into her father’s arms. She doubted there were any videos of her singing, though—not until much later.

“Next year, then,” he said. “And it will be worth it, right? What a skill to have, Ruby. I know she’ll pick it up quickly; she’s got an amazing ear. Like you.” He smiled at her, his eyes full of admiration.

Ruby caught a movement in the corner of her eye, Constance’s head turning once more to look at them. All of a sudden, Gregor seemed flustered. “I haven’t even offered you a drink.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I just had one …”

“I’ll make coffee.” He rushed out.

The energy in the room, without Gregor, was completely different. Ruby put the violin away, and when she looked up, she realized that Constance hadn’t said anything for a long time. The quiet settled, both of them listening to the sound of Leonie shuffling here and there over the carpet.

“Thank you, little lady.” Ruby took the wooden brick that was offered. “So, Constance.” Leonie shuffled across the length of the room. “Where are you from originally? You have an accent.”

Constance looked in the direction of the seascape print and pointed. “I’m from there.”

Ruby stood up to get a closer look at the image. There was no land in it, only water and sky, in different shades of gunmetal gray and green, with white on the tips of the waves. The ocean during a storm.

“Where was this taken?” asked Ruby. Thinking of the accent, she said, “Somewhere in Scotland?”

Gregor came in holding a tray with three mugs and a cafetière.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? I bought it in an online auction last year. Somewhere off Orkney, apparently. They get a lot of weather up there. Sideways rain.”