Lucy hadn’t noticed this at first, but she nodded at him. The cover seemed to have been repaired and reembroidered endlessly through eternity, patched and reworked by forgotten fingers—and yet for her, the hand of the original maker was more than evident. Yes, it was for her, she thought. It had been waiting all that time, just for her. The knowledge of this was immense for Lucy. It made her feel tied to Alex in a way that was consuming, exalting, and yet alarming. She was her own person, and always had been. No one had ever really claimed her. Now she belonged to, or with, someone else.

Close to tears, Lucy laid the case flat on the table and unbuttoned the cover with knowing fingers. Inside were the parchment sheets she knew would be there, the top pages exactly like the copies Will had created; but resting loosely in the bag was a single white rose which exhaled its soft old-world fragrance into the modern space around them. Like its twin in L’Aigle, it was perfectly faded.

Lucy was struck by Simon’s silence, but Roland leaned forward and touched the embroidered cover with reverence. “One of the strangest things I’ve seen. If I believed in God I would say it was his work. But I don’t, so tell me, you two, where in the world did this come from? And what is it?”

“We hope,” said Simon at last, “that it’s the answer to a lot of complicated questions.”

“And how could you possibly know, Roland,” Lucy asked, looking up at him with watering eyes, “that it came from a true Garden of Eden?”

30

WITH THE CRAB APPLE AND MAGNOLIA BLOSSOMING IN THE SMALL FRONT garden it was easily the prettiest house in the terrace. A willowy blond figure came to the door, pecked his cheek, and Alex disappeared inside with an orchid. Lucy watched from his car, felt a small wave of panic, her thoughts as arrhythmic as her pulse. This was his past; and her first taste of what a future could be like.