Lucy was unsure how to answer. A sea of faces came at her from the opposite direction; but even in the tide of humanity set free at lunchtime in this great city, and despite the events of the last twenty minutes, all she could think of was calling Alex. For an uneasy hour before the excursion to Roland’s building, she’d had a sinking feeling he was under duress. She was wondering about Max’s head injury. Privacy was elusive, and of course she was frustrated with the immediate situation—and also exhausted from a restless night in New York. But something else chafed, though she couldn’t identify what it was.

Simon reached across through the throng of people, and put a friendly hand on her arm.

“Let’s find ourselves a coffee and some lunch anyway?”

She nodded, grateful for a chance to stop. The frustrations of the morning threatened to overwhelm her, and she now owned up to her exhaustion. How bizarre—that a break-in the night before should leave police crawling through the building; never mind that Will’s agent had canceled their appointment. His partner had said only that he’d flown to Boston for the day. Wasn’t that strange? After the great push to get there—the run from Lucy’s office via the hospital, the lightning rush from Battersea to Heathrow, the oddly distressing wrench from Alex, a night without sleep, and now this canceled appointment—Lucy felt flat and unwell.

They found the Tick Tock Diner, and while Lucy disappeared to the ladies’ room, Simon ordered her an open-face sandwich and black coffee. Against her usual practice, she’d requested the caffeine to give her a jolt. Joining him at the booth, she peered into the bread at the filling, felt a wave of nausea, and realized she couldn’t manage a bite. He read her alarm, put down the sweet potato fry on the end of his fork, and leaned over to squeeze her arm.

“I’ve ordered badly, haven’t I? Should have taken the veggie burger?” Simon had tried following Alex’s directive about low-salt, freshly prepared food, avoiding anything that might be reheated, and realized he’d made a poor choice. “The look on your face says a good vet might recover that lamb’s heartbeat!”

She managed a horrified laugh. “I’m sorry—it’s not the food. I don’t know quite what’s wrong. I want to be here with you, and see Roland. I’m even glad of the chance to reassert my independence—away from Alex. But I feel oddly torn, as though I’ve left part of myself behind. I’m not altogether comfortable with that.”