“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you over the past twenty-four hours, it’s that you’re not prone to dramatics. She chose her agent well. I don’t know too many others who would never even have one sneaky google to see what they could find.” D’Arcy caught his eye and saw the integrity that Jess must also have recognized. It was tempting to end the conversation on that amicable note but there was still the most important question hanging over them as weightily as the draped tree branches around them. “Do you know why she’s chosen to tell you now? And why she’s chosen to tell me? I tried to ask her but I didn’t get very far.”

“All she said was that it’s time. She reminded me how old she is, which I always like to ignore because as well as being my client, she’s someone I respect and look forward to seeing each week. It’s hard to imagine that she might, one day soon, not be here anymore.” He sighed. “Now I’m turning the picnic into something maudlin.”

D’Arcy reached out for his hand. “You know, most agents in your position would be crowing over the fact that their client had such a newsworthy backstory, not worrying about them dying.”

“She’s too precious to throw to the publicity wolves,” he said quietly.

“She is.” D’Arcy paused, then said, “Of all the women who might end up alone and reclusive, it’s hard to imagine Jessica May as one of them. I mean, she was a model; she was stunning. But she was obviously smart too. Her journalism is excellent and her photographs extraordinary. Why would she vanish from the world? Why wouldn’t someone fall in love with her and share this place with her?”

“Did you ask her about the photograph of Victorine and Dan Hallworth? It’s not the Dan Hallworth who owns World Media Group, is it?”

“I’m not sure.” D’Arcy let go of Josh’s hand and chose a baguette. She bit into it, chewed and swallowed before she replied. “He’s the only Dan Hallworth I know of. My mother runs the Asia-Pacific arm of World Media out of Sydney. Everyone always teases her about having the same surname as the man who owns the business and she always laughs in response like it’s a joke. But what if it isn’t? What if she actually is related to him? Why would she never tell me that?”

“Didn’t want to be accused of nepotism?” Josh guessed.

“It’s a fairly dramatic way to avoid accusations of nepotism: not even telling me about my—what, grandfather? I suppose the connection mightn’t be that immediate; perhaps he could be a great-uncle or distant relation but the way they were holding one another in that photograph…” The words tumbled out, unstoppable because it wasn’t just her imagination or the lure of the trees or the captivating smile of Jessica May. It was near fact, written in black ink on a set of old photographs.