Harry walks back over the bridge and across the field and stands with his hands on the railings. The grass beyond is knee-high and the apple trees untended. Wasps hum among the fallen fruit and he thinks of a long-ago felled orchard, the sweet smell of the newly cut wood, and his brother sleeping in the grass at his side. Should he not still be sleeping? Who do these railings contain?

The gate closes behind him. Weeds have pushed through the gravel path and a trellis of wisteria has taken over one side of the house. There are empty bottles stacked in a crate by the side of the door, he sees as he gets closer, and a cane chair that has blackened with being out in the weather. The drone of a wasp is amplified in the bottles. A shutter hangs aslant.

It is dark inside and he can see very little through the window. There are some items of furniture covered over with dust sheets, so that they look like ghosts in a Victorian melodrama. There is a vase of desiccated hydrangea heads on the other side of the glass, and an open book. He stands on his tiptoes to see and reads the first line of a poem. “I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky. . . .” He hears Rachel’s voice speak the line and is momentarily back on the boat with the taste of salt on his lips. “It’s not enough: ‘Missing’,” says Rachel’s recalled voice.

With a sudden movement he steps back. A bottle falls and smashes. A rat scurries away.

“Monsieur?”

He turns, expecting to see the man in the homburg hat with a face that is a blur.

“Monsieur? Je peux vous aider?”

It is a woman. White hair. A black dress. A gold cross at her throat. She holds her outstretched hands together as if she is making an offering in a church, as if she is about to dip in front of an altar. There is something humble and tender about the gesture and Harry instinctively wants to stretch his hand out to hers.

“I can help you?” she says.

SHE UNLOCKS THE door and Harry steps in behind her. She introduces herself as Marie-Thérèse and apologizes for the state of the floor tiles.

“I have been looking after the house and le monsieur. Il était anglais, ce monsieur,” she adds. “Comme vous? The house is available for rent again, but I did not expect anyone to view it today. J’ai honte de ce bordel! I am sorry for the mess. Tout sera bien propre.”