“I just wanted today to be different,” said Genevieve. “I hate school. It’s so boring.” The tears were building. “I’m sick of being treated like a child all the time.”

His face softened. He looked amused.

“I wanted something to happen.”

“Well, well.” He stroked his chin and stared at her in a searching sort of way. His face was very precisely an older version of Alexander’s.

Her mouth was uncomfortably dry. “May I have a glass of water, please?”

“I can do better than that.” He slipped back into the darkroom, reappearing a moment later with a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew and two glasses.

“I’ve never tasted wine.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day then, isn’t it?”

He popped the cork and poured. As he passed her the glass, his fingers brushed against hers. She felt strange. Tingly.

He put his head to one side, watching her. His eyes were exactly like Alexander’s. Beautiful eyes.

“So you’re sick of being treated like a child, are you?”

She sipped the wine and tried not to make a face. It was nasty stuff, but she was determined not to let her lack of sophistication show.

“I wonder how you’d like me to treat you.”

She’d never been alone with a boy before, let alone a man. What would the other girls think?

“Just how Honourable are you, Miss Samuel?”

And suddenly he moved up close, and she realized he was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to do it. She’d never wanted anything quite so much.

There were further Sundays. Eight or nine of them. Genevieve gained a subtle knowingness, lightly mocking her friends and their adolescent beaux. She was tempted, when questioned by Irene Nicholas as to where she went each week, to say that she was meeting Alexander Giles, but thought better of it. She claimed to be visiting a war-widowed aunt, and delivered the lie with the kind of smile that made it evident she was lying.

Often she lay awake at night, thinking about Mr. Giles and touching herself under the blankets. Her appetite waned, and she had to force herself to eat any of the bland school food at mealtimes. She lost weight, her cheeks became hollow and her eyes gleamed darkly. She looked and felt older. Her classmates seemed to sense that something was up, and began, whether consciously or unconsciously, to distance themselves from her. Genevieve didn’t care. She only cared about her Sundays with Mr. Giles. She wondered if this was love.