He put her glass of chardonnay near the cutting board at which she had been working.

She paused to slip on an oven mitt, open a warming drawer, and retrieve a platter of zucchini dorati. The thick-sliced courgettes had been lightly coated with flour, dipped in an egg-and-cheese mixture, and panfried in olive oil.

“A little something to whet the appetite,” she said.

They were delicious. Exactly as Emily had made them.

| 48 |

Three golden halos of light quivering on the kitchen ceiling, reflections of the candles below. Wineglasses and polished flatware glimmering on the table. Soft piano solos dialed low to allow easy conversation. A symphony of mouthwatering aromas.

She served dinner at seven o’clock, starting with aubergine salad dressed with a sweet-and-sour sauce. The main course of sogliole al marsala, fillets of sole in a thin but delicious batter, was accompanied by tortellini alla panna with freshly grated nutmeg, carrots with tarragon, and cavolfiore alla Siciliana. For dessert, narrow slices of paradise cake flavored with lemon.

Every dish was exquisitely prepared—as they had been when Emily had cooked them.

David praised Maddison’s culinary talent but did not remark that dinner was eerily like others that Emily had created.

She supposedly knew nothing more about Emily Carlino than what he had told her: that she greatly resembled Emily, that he and Emily had once been lovers but that she had “left” him. Yet Maddison knew of the grave meant for Emily—even though the headstone lacked that precious name—and knew of Calista. She sounded like Emily, moved like Emily, cooked like Emily, made love like Emily . . .

With such a cloud of mysteries weighing down on the evening like thunderheads swollen with cold rain and armed with ten thousand lightning bolts, the conversation should have stumbled repeatedly as they avoided tripping over the countless deceptions and evasions in which they had engaged since the night they met. Instead, she was a charming, funny, intelligent companion, and David held his own with her, and the conversation flowed as ever it had between him and Emily, until at ten o’clock they had been three hours at the table.

He suggested that they clean up the kitchen together, but she said, “I’ll do it in the morning. I’ve moved out of the hotel and brought all my luggage here to stay awhile. Why don’t you provide the second dessert and take me to bed?”

Although he wanted nothing more than to do what she asked, the weirdness of the situation so troubled him that he thought they had best avoid intimacy until all secrets were revealed, according to her promise. He couldn’t say as much without in the end disclosing where he’d spent the day, and he was worried that if Maddison knew of his investigation, if she viewed it as distrust of her, the floor might fall out from under their relationship.