“Hi there. Sorry, we’re by the pool, luckily Poppy heard you.”

He shakes Paul’s hand then Grace’s. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long. The door’s unlocked, you could have just pushed it open.”

Unlocked? Why is it that people with money leave so much untended? Eric smiles down at her, nodding as if in reply to something she hasn’t said. “So glad you could make it.” He walks to the gate and slides the bolt shut.

“It’s great to see you in your natural habitat at last. What a place.” Paul gazes up at the tall stone building. “Lucky old you.”

“It was Eve’s father’s,” Eric replies. “Dates from the Ottoman Empire. They hurled cannonfire at each other across the street, sworn enemies. It’s safer nowadays, of course.”

Is it? Nowadays it’s more difficult to tell where your enemies are, harder to defeat them. It would be easier to live in a tower, and then Grace remembers she does. She fought a battle and won. She mustn’t forget that, when she runs to the parking lot in the morning and back again in the evening, dreading the tap of following feet, or as she locks herself in at night, then lies awake, sweating with terror. The enemy has been vanquished, at least for now. She must remember she’s a winner. She catches Eric’s eyes on her and realizes her teeth are clenched. She turns away to look at the view.

“Come with me.” Eric sets off down the path through the trees. “Your quarters are through there.” He gestures at the cluster of stone buildings. “Everyone hangs by the pool or on the patio. I’m not sure how much schoolwork is being done.”

The sounds of splashing become louder. Listening, Grace almost stumbles into Martin, who is on a sunbed facing toward Eve in a little clearing in the trees. She is lying on an opposite bed, Ash tucked into her back. Her face is intent, she’s unaware of their arrival.

“Eve,” Eric says quietly, “our guests are here.”

She’s immediately on her feet; Ash rolls into the space her body has left, his eyes still closed in sleep. Martin twists around, then pushes himself off his bed. His bare feet tip a glass of wine, which spills onto the ground. The earth is so hard that it stays on the surface, a pool of shining red, like blood, she thinks, staring at the way the olive leaves are reflected, a little pool of fresh blood. She looks up, meeting Eve’s smiling gaze.

“Darling.” Martin’s face is flushed; he puts an arm around her. He doesn’t usually call her “darling.” He has put on weight and, despite the fluster, looks relaxed and amused, as if pleased with life. It occurs to her that he hasn’t missed her at all.

“It’s lovely to see you.” He kisses the top of her head.

“Are the kids behaving?” Not the greeting she’d planned, but she feels off-balance, as though she’s intruding. It’s the best she can manage.