He took six strong steps out of the center, where a plaque bearing Theseus and his vanquished Minotaur had once been pinned upon rivets that were still visible. He swiveled to the left, and caught the unmistakable perfume of roses—like an exotic attar. His feet paced on, and as he came to the 180-degree turn, he thought to see what or who had wafted the fragrance; but it was nothing, no one. He turned again toward the east, and the scent came again, with a sensation of the liquid movement of fabric, but it was a trick of the light and his giddiness, and he was able to complete the labyrinth without a soul interfering.

Almost breathless, he walked straight from the heart of the labyrinth in the nave to the rear of the altar, to the Lady Chapel; and here he lit a large candle—well worth the two and a half euros, he decided. He felt his mother here with him, watching him, and he quietly mouthed: “I am now what I was not then.”

He strode from the cathedral through the north porch, and his feet felt nothing of their contact with the floor, nor was he aware of a shadow slipping from the murky light behind the pillar.

4

THE RAIN EASED, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE LEAVING THE PHYSIC Garden, Lucy slowed her footfall. Her pager beeped again, but the hospital had been a lonelier place than usual this week, and she was not yet willing to terminate her freedom. Besides, she’d done this before—scurried back to her doctors from one part of Chelsea or another only to find there was a false alarm. Twice in this last fortnight, in fact. Perhaps this time would be different—though a part of her almost hoped she might have to wait. Until he was back.

She sauntered up Flood Street for a block, then her feet chose a path to the left along St. Loo Avenue. She knew she was going a little out of her way, but after an uncharacteristically good summer the trees were already turning golden and she loved the leafy avenues around this area, where the old Tudor manor house had stood and a garden had been planted with mulberries by Princess Elizabeth herself in the early 1540s. They were still flourishing a few streets away, near Cheyne Row. And just here, Chelsea Manor Street was serene. She took a road to the left into Phene Street, past the pub that was getting busy with the Friday lunchtime regulars: she remembered hearing about Dr. Phene’s “good idea.” He was accredited as the man who had thought of planting trees up and down the street. The idea caught Queen Victoria’s imagination and then took off across Europe. Well, so the story went; it might be apocryphal, but there were still a few fine trees in the pretty pub garden to testify to his vision.