Lucy had been locked in her own thoughts, cocooned in Alex’s physical proximity, and had spent the hour’s flight from Orly adrift from the world. Despite the intrusive, discordant phone call followed by the strange find in the knot garden, she couldn’t rivet her mind on danger or urgency at all until she saw Grace’s strained face at Arrivals. Now, noting Simon’s furtive expression as she slid into the backseat of his battered four-wheel drive, she shivered. Alex jumped in behind her while Grace got in next to Simon, who was pulling away before the doors were fully closed.

“I owe you one, Simon. I hope I didn’t sound too conspiratorial on the phone.”

“Not nearly conspiratorial enough, Alex.” Simon laughed uneasily. “Your place, or the girls’ flat?”

Alex registered Simon’s remark with a wish that he could be amused by it—but he evaded a direct verbal response to Simon’s expressed unease and answered instead the question of their destination. “Actually, I wondered if I could buy us all dinner at The Cricketers in Longparish? Unless you have plans?”

“Great pub. Wasn’t it Will’s favorite for real ale? It’s a long while since I was there. Why tonight?” Simon was driving with an eye on the rearview mirror.

“Lucy’s been unearthing more interesting archaeology: this time in the house in France.”

She stretched the seat belt and leaned forward, showing them a quick glimpse of the Ducati key, still taped to the tile as they’d found it. “This was left to germinate in the rose garden.”

“Odd place to keep the spare.” Simon grinned at her in the mirror. “Ducati’s in the garage at your father’s?” Alex nodded, and Simon looked at Grace. “Dinner at The Cricketers, then.”

He accelerated, still with one eye in the rearview mirror: “You’ve got things to tell us, but I’ll give you a modern history lesson first. I’ve unearthed some things myself over the last forty-eight hours. I tried to reach you at your flat, Alex, and Siân told me what had happened.” Grace turned and squeezed Lucy’s hand sympathetically. “So I paid Calvin a little visit.”

Simon’s eyes darted from mirror to road and back; now he pointed the car onto the interchange that would take them toward the highway, but as they approached the roundabout after the tunnel he swung up the ramp and back toward the perimeter road, cutting in on a car taking the same route. His passengers looked puzzled. The perimeter road ran for a few miles inside the airport precincts, and the other car continued behind them. Further on it closed up behind them, then held back again.