“We’ll start without Paul,” Melly says. Grace glances at her, a new Melly, more decisive. At that moment the door opens and Paul comes in, sleet sticking to his hair. He takes off his coat and gloves.

“Smells good. It turns out my wife can cook, or did anyone help her?” No one replies and he sits down, pouring himself a large glass of wine. He downs it swiftly, then pours another and drinks that too. He sits back and sighs loudly.

Melly’s bright expression doesn’t falter; she doles out portions of chicken in an herb-scented sauce and the plates of food are passed around.

“One too many. Trying to fatten me up?” Paul passes the extra plate back.

Melissa scans the table. “Who isn’t here?”

Eric glances around at the faces; he looks at Poppy. “Call your sister down.”

“Why is it always me?” Poppy stares back at her father and doesn’t budge.

“I’ll go.” Charley bounds from the room. She is gone for a surprisingly long time, and when she reappears, she looks scared. “She’s not in the bedrooms. I’ve looked everywhere, in Eve’s room too. Actually, I haven’t seen her since we woke up.”

In Zimbabwe, immediately before the rains, everything goes quiet. Animals flatten themselves against the earth, small ones disappear, even the trees seem to batten down. The deep hush appears to last for a while, though it’s probably only moments, then the adults rise and begin to move. Eric shoves his chair back so quickly it thuds to the ground, then he disappears outside, Blake at his heels. Paul stands, forking another spoonful into his mouth, then he follows too. Melissa vanishes into the hall, Grace hears the sound of doors opening and closing. The girls bunch together in the kitchen like little animals in a storm, undecided which way to run.

“She might be with Eve. I’ll double-check; meanwhile can you kids look in all the rooms again with Melly?” Grace leaves the kitchen and begins to climb the stairs; Martin follows her.

“Don’t say anything about Sorrel being missing yet.” His voice is tight with anxiety. “You’ll worry her needlessly.”

“Fuck off.”

She knocks at Eve’s door; there’s no answer so she opens it and walks in quietly. Eve is lying on her back with her eyes closed. Sorrel isn’t with her. Grace hesitates, about to back away. Eve opens her eyes and turns her head slowly toward her.

“Hello, Grace.” Her voice is dull. “You okay?”

Grace sees she might be wrong. The affair might be over as Martin said. Eve obviously wasn’t fucking her husband this evening and probably hasn’t been for a while; she is barely surviving. “Sorrel hasn’t been with you this evening by any chance?”

It was that casual any chance; Eve rears up in bed, breathless as if surfacing from the depths. “Look outside. The pond—”

“There’s no pond now, remember? I’m sure . . .” Grace doesn’t finish, she doesn’t feel sure of anything.

Eve pushes back the bedclothes. Her legs are thin, much thinner than they were. She wrenches down her nightgown, Grace takes her hand; it feels cold and bony. The glowing woman in Greece, the one her husband couldn’t resist, has been replaced by a wraith. Grace finds herself helping her up at the same time that she wants to scream; she wants to scream and shake her. The image of Martin’s body on top of Eve’s grates alongside ones of Sorrel’s gap-toothed, uncertain smile, of the child struggling in the grip of some monster, screaming for help. Sorrel needs them, all of them. She must focus on that for now. She slips an arm around Eve and, half lifting her, guides her to the door. They are walking down the stairs together when the children clatter down behind her.