The woman in front of me concluded her business with the front desk, snapped the handle of her suitcase smartly, and rolled it away, its wheels squeaking on the spotless floor, and suddenly the reality of my project came fully to bear. When I approached the desk I would be masquerading as Daniel Shriver, whoever that was, who had come to retrieve a bag he’d left behind. Really it should not fill me with dread the way it did. People did it all the time. The Swedish policeman— But before I could think what exactly the Swedish policeman would have done, I saw that the smooth-faced young man had finally noticed me. Looking up from his desk, he beckoned me forward with a small smile.

“How can I help you?”

“Hello,” I said, stiffer than I would have liked. “I left a bag behind. Here,” I added unhelpfully.

“Oh yes,” said the man. “What was the name?”

I was suddenly overcome with embarrassment; I felt like an actor in a bad play. “Daniel Shriver,” I said begrudgingly.

The young man nodded at the mention of “my” name and gave every indication that he was about to set some bag-retrieval process in motion, until he stopped completely, his attention suddenly arrested by something else. Following his line of sight, I saw that it was the bouquet of white lilies I had noticed before on the counter; they had wept a light, powdery dusting of yellow pollen onto the black surface.

“Excuse me for a moment,” said the young man. Without warning, he dipped behind the counter and surfaced holding a small cloth, which he used to wipe away the offending pollen—a fastidious gesture, like a woman wiping away a bit of makeup. I watched, transfixed.

“Sorry about that,” said the smooth-faced young man. He gave me his little smile again. It was warm but impersonal, like the smile of a young Buddha.

“Yes, your bag, Mr. Shriver,” he went on. “How could I forget? We spoke on the phone earlier, if I’m not mistaken.”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry again. Did he recognize me, I wondered, from the night we’d crossed paths in the lobby and he’d told me my watch had stopped? Would he put two and two together—and suspect? But it occurred to me, of course—I could have been “Daniel Shriver” then, too.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

The young man appeared to check something below my line of sight.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said brightly, looking up. “We did have your bag, but your representative has already picked it up for you.”

“My—” I said. “I’m sorry. My what?”

“Yes,” said the smooth-faced young man, as if this were all to be expected. He gave no sign that he noticed my agitation. “Don’t worry, she hasn’t gone far.”

“She?” I managed to get out.