Lucy hadn’t noticed, but now she took in the aesthetics of the place, with a long breath: an unspoilt English country village, airbrushed white by the weather. Houses bowed with the weight of years; roofs sagged under tiles baked in the sun of previous centuries; windows leaned on beams that ran downhill. The river plashed along the front of the gardens, and under old bridges. She was captivated.

“Thank you for this. What a relief from the city. Can we walk a little?”

It was about half-past eleven when Alex parked at The Plough, his mother’s preferred pub. He swathed her in his own scarf and gloves and buttoned her coat to the top. Together they moved along the lane, walking close to share their body heat. A watery sun struggled with no more power than candlelight on the roofs and paths. But Lucy was a world of feelings away from the cold. She let the quiet, the patches of color on the doors and in the waking flower beds, the mere survival of the village itself with its shop and church and post office and playing fields, enter her soul. The weather snuffed out most signs of life, but one or two people coming out of doors or cars nodded at Alex. This was his space. His childhood lay all about him.

They passed the cricket ground, and he pointed out the clubhouse with its thatched roof looking weary of the cold weather. “A second home in the summer months. First kisses under those trees, early hangovers after lost matches. Even bigger ones if we won. My mother used to come and help with the teas.”

His commentary seemed to Lucy to dally behind other, unspoken thoughts. But she said nothing to push him, absorbing instead these details of his life like hungry grassland scenting the rain. It gave her a sensation she’d never experienced—the vicarious pleasure of seeing the world through someone else’s eyes, someone becoming beloved. She realized how the absence of such memories in her own childhood had made it harder to know herself. Alex—sure of his identity—was able to touch people closely, with gentleness and strength, unafraid of the dark. Whatever happened around him, he was still himself. She found resilience by keeping her affections leashed, but one storm of serious emotion would threaten her with obliteration, she thought, sweeping away her only creed. It suddenly struck her that it was no surprise her heart had been her Achilles heel.