Lucy was hushed. She had heard from Amel about this dreadful recent death in Alex’s family, and she knew the ghosts couldn’t possibly be laid to rest yet; but he had said nothing at all to her about it, and she didn’t know him well enough to broach the subject herself, to say that she’d heard of the loss and was desperately sorry. So she would wait for an evening when, perhaps in the right mood, a glass of good wine might invite him to talk to her. She was longing for him to do so. Such an evening, and such a confidence, would mark a change.

The men chatted as they walked across the Common, until they spotted a couple moving toward them from the pond. As they came close enough for Lucy to see their faces, she tensed. Introductions were made between them. Alex was all courtesy, and gave the girl a warm hug. Simon put on a good performance with the boyfriend and similarly gave the girl an affectionate kiss. Neither seemed to warm to the man; and Lucy also felt herself apart from him, and only him. He was good-looking, after a fashion; squeaky-clean blond hair, smartly dressed, with a chocolate jacket and chinos, and a button-down collar. But she felt a wariness toward him—which was unfortunate, she realized, as he was apparently Alex’s cousin.

But the exotic girl with him—a year or two older than herself, she calculated—transfixed Lucy. She was a Rosetti painting come alive, with strawberry-blond curls, model-girl height, and some magnetic quality she couldn’t define. Lucy was instantly drawn to her. She looked the type who was always outgoing, yet she also projected some vulnerability. Lucy recognized torment in her, and wondered why.

And in her turn, Siân looked searchingly at Lucy, and decided in a second she liked what she saw. Other women often made her nervous—she was far happier with men. But this fascinating classical face—so different from her own, with its huge warm eyes—reassured her, communicated some essence of sympathy; and she was glad she had come, pleased for Alex if this was something special unfolding in his life. He’d almost been an island—by his own choosing—since the end of his marriage to Anna. Today he seemed relaxed and happy, stylishly dressed in a light pink shirt and duck-egg sweater over jeans. Siân smiled approvingly.

Lucy was so caught up in her impressions that she hadn’t followed the conversation. Calvin was explaining the family relationship, she realized. Their grandmothers were sisters, but one had gone to America and the relationship between all parties had lapsed into sporadic correspondence.

“I do remember my mother writing to a cousin—in Nantucket, I thought.” Alex had never said anything about his family, so this interested Lucy, wrenching her back to what they were discussing.