“I don’t mind in the least. Do you know what to do, Lucy? I haven’t the first idea how to process film myself—have you, Alex?”

“Lucy is a lady of surprising gifts.” Alex shot her an ironic smile. “But would you call it a day by eleven? We’ll have to be up early and off by seven-ish to make London comfortably. After three days off work, I need to get in and catch up.”

They planned the details of their departure while Alex waited for the bill; but Henry returned from the bar with a beneficent expression and suggested they leave. Alex’s eyes narrowed humorously at him. “What have you done?”

“Let me treat you. It’s such a pleasure to have the company of four fine intellects for dinner. Don’t argue, Alex. You’ve all saved me from cheese on toast at home. And hearing Simon’s skeptical approach to the politics of life is like having a little piece of Will with us. I haven’t laughed so much in months.”

This cheered Alex, and he and Lucy linked arms with Henry as they strolled back to the house in a far better frame of mind than they had shared during the drive down.

BY TEN-FIFTEEN GRACE AND HENRY WERE DEEP IN DISCUSSION ABOUT some contrasting interpretations regarding the Apocalypse. Alex—having satisfied himself that all was well at Anna’s, and asked his neighbor to feed the cat—was now making a second round of coffee.

Simon was impatient to slip away and see how Lucy was progressing. He was surprised she knew about Will’s darkroom. It was unusual these days for someone to prefer to do his own processing. He had witnessed the master many times, and while he couldn’t remember the precise steps to replicate the expertise, he wanted to be there and watch Lucy, so he poured out a cup of the coffee and excused himself.

The darkroom had been converted from the old buttery, as it had running water and a Belfast sink. He found the door locked, so he rapped sharply and then called to her.

“Simon?” He grunted affirmation. “Just give me a moment. I’ve almost fixed the negatives, then I can open.”

Moments later, a white cotton-gloved hand eased the edge of the door and waved him in. His eyes adjusted to the satanic glow, and she offered him a stool to perch on while she completed the job with the processing tank. She emptied out the fixative chemicals and flushed it with water, carefully opened the tank again, removed the developed negatives, and hung the strips over the sink to partially dry.

“Where’s the discussion got to?” She smiled authoritatively while she picked up a chamois and slipped it over the strands of film to remove the excess liquid.