And Esther, the curator, didn’t laugh. She sounded excited. She’d been at university with D’Arcy and knew her well. “When can you send me a rough cut?” she asked.

“By the end of the week,” D’Arcy promised, exhilaration and nerves making her smile crookedly. She’d given her work the opportunity to be judged. Maybe it wouldn’t be adequate. And she would accept that and try harder and learn more. But maybe it would be more than adequate. Maybe it would be as honest as Jess had imagined.

Then, on the penultimate night of D’Arcy’s stay, Jess asked D’Arcy if she would join her for dinner in the folly. It was hot outside so D’Arcy threw on the mini-dress she’d worn the night she had dinner with Josh but stopped short when she saw him sitting at the table with Jess, obviously having been asked to join them too.

He looked tired and the only chair available was the one beside him. She took it, thinking how easy it would be to lean across and into him, to feel the weight of his arm around her shoulders, to apologize to him. But then they would be back to where they were before, waiting for the next moment when D’Arcy would disappoint him. Waiting for D’Arcy to leave.

Jess began to speak. “You think you don’t want to hear the rest of it. But there are some things, the genesis of all this terrible aftermath, that would be better coming from me. Victorine wasn’t there when some of it happened. I telephoned her a few days ago and told her that you were here, that you knew who I was and that was why you were ignoring her phone calls. She forgave my meddling, which I had never meant to go so far, or to have these consequences. She isn’t to blame. I am. And if she, who has endured more than anyone, can forgive, then I think you can forgive her.”

“You spoke to Victorine?” D’Arcy said incredulously. “When? And why does Josh need to be here?”

Jess forestalled her. “I want you both to hear the story.” Then she began. “Dan did marry Amelia. I…” Her eyes filled with tears, so many tears.

D’Arcy felt her own eyes fill too. All she wanted was for the story to be over; for the crying to stop. But what if the end of the story wasn’t the end of the sadness? Don’t say any more, she wanted to urge. Stop now.

And for a few seconds, D’Arcy thought that Jess had somehow heard her plea because nobody spoke. How lovely the night was, the gentle whisper of flower stems stretching and yawning and then curling in to slumber, the swish of the last bird’s wings flying home to roost, the rustle of night creatures awakening. Lemon and chive-scented air. The taste of champagne grapes on her tongue.

“I became pregnant,” Jess said. The fissuring of the calm. “I couldn’t be sure the child was Dan’s. So I let him go with Amelia.”