Another ten minutes and Genevieve still stood in the shadow of the looming Cyclops statue. He’s not going to come, she thought. And this seemed the worst possibility of all. But inevitably, just as she had given up hope and turned around to retreat down the tree-lined avenue and out of the gardens, there were sounds of running feet hitting the gravel; panting breath—and, now, here he was, red-faced and bending almost double while he recovered himself.

“You’re still here,” he said, straightening up. “I thought maybe you’d have gone. I spotted you way back there, but I couldn’t see your face under that hat.”

“I was just about to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “A shoe fitting. It was going on forever, and it was awful, and all I wanted was to get away and come here.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “I’m late for you, and the shoes were terrible! I hate it when they’re not right.”

“What was wrong with them?”

“Nothing.” He raked a hand through his messed-up hair. “And everything. They weren’t for her. That’s the truth of the matter. The shoes must be precisely right for the woman. That’s how I work.”

“Did she take them anyway?”

A frown. “Of course not. I would never have let her.”

“Was she angry?”

“She knows me too well for that.”

“So what will you do with the shoes? Alter them in some way?”

“As I said, they weren’t right.”

She shook her head. “My husband would think you were mad, spending so much time and effort on one pair of shoes and then just throwing them away.”

“Your husband and I are very different men. Let’s walk a little, shall we?”

He offered her his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

For a time, they walked in silence. As they passed the pétanque game, one old man touched his cap to them. Another gave a stupid smile.

They think we’re a married couple, Genevieve reflected. Or a pair of sweethearts. She looked at him sidelong. “What you said last night—it’s all true. And I want…you know what I want. But…”

“But?” He was smiling.

“It’s all very well for you.” She pulled her arm away from him. “You can do as you please—follow your every fancy. There are no real consequences for you. Nobody to find out. Nobody that you have to lie to.”

Zachari sucked in a breath. They began walking again.

“I’m not married, we both know that,” he said. “But my life is complicated enough, believe me. There are plenty of lies.”

“Yes.” Violet de Frémont came, unbidden, into her head. She wondered about the others. “Yes, I suppose there are.”