The latter invitation was rather a sudden one from Alex, Calvin having gone away again unexpectedly—to Jerusalem, no less—altering the plans he’d made quite out of the blue to take Siân back home to meet his family in Nantucket. Very unsatisfactory, Lucy had thought. Siân was unsure what to think. That Alex had lent support to the idea of Siân’s going with Calvin at all had surprised Lucy; but it seemed even more strange that he was so nonjudgmental about the subsequent change of plans. That had truly amazed her. Perhaps it was the present state of equipoise? Since their return from New York—and Calvin’s delivery of Will’s documents to his college elders—warfare had ceased. They had been given the originals as before, while Lucy and Alex had privately created double-sided copies for their own investigation. The precious embroidered bag she had not yielded up—not even to Alex’s keeping: it remained in her possession. But nothing more was heard from their adversaries, and if Alex felt annoyance that they had something that didn’t belong to them, he remained silent. Still, Lucy didn’t trust Calvin as far as she could throw him, and she was relieved Siân would be coming to them after visiting her mother in Wales. She should get free of him, Lucy thought, and she struggled with Alex’s equanimity. She had learned to respect his judgment in virtually any circumstance, yet she couldn’t help feeling he was a bit blind to something in Calvin, perhaps because of their kinship. She couldn’t make sense of it any other way.

At the end of an active day Max was drooping, and went up to his attic bedroom without being asked at precisely nine o’clock, leaving the other three to their conversation. Alex had poached a salmon and served it with tarragon hollandaise, leaving Lucy to wonder why he always apologized for his culinary efforts.

“Who are you comparing yourself with, Alex? You’ve never given me a bad dinner. You’re a fine cook, and your hands smell like an herb garden.” She kissed them quickly, and was struck that these were among the first kind words she’d offered him since her trip. She needed to talk, which Henry could see, and he excused himself to his own room with a good book, locking up as he passed. But they had cleaned and cleared everything before either could break the silence with more than a monosyllable. Eventually she laced her arms around his hips, and searched his eyes. It was a holiday, and he hadn’t shaved. She loved this face, touched the mild show of stubble—it belonged to her Alex, hinted he wasn’t always rigidly in control. She relaxed a little, but still felt tongue-tied. He began.

“You were superb today. Max enjoyed being with you.”