A toilet flushed and the stall door opened. The woman with the man who looked like Derek stepped out, petite and confident, and wearing a pair of bright yellow stilettoes that picked up the colour of the sunflowers on her dress. She smiled at Faye as she opened a tap. Faye blushed and looked away. The girl was younger than Faye had imagined her to be from a distance. Was she even in her twenties? She left while Faye fumbled in her handbag, looking for her lipstick. Shortly afterwards, Faye followed, ducking her head in the other direction as she left the restaurant.

When she and her mother made their way to Faye’s car minutes later, she spotted Derek’s navy-blue BMW.

“You were at the Woodcutter’s Garden Bistro today,” she’d said that evening, as she added a second potato to Derek’s dinner plate and handed it to him.

He took it, eyes fixed on her face. “I was,” he said, his voice even. “How did—”

“My mother and I were there for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you say hello?” Still staring at her, Derek picked up his knife and fork. “Well?”

She looked down.

“Faye . . . Faye . . . Please Faye. I was there with the intern. It was her final day. I took her to lunch as a formality.”

“A formality?” she mumbled. “You take all your interns to lunch at the end of their stint? I didn’t know.”

“Yes, I do. As you well know.”

Did she know? Was it something else she’d forgotten? She bit her lip.

“We invest a lot in these kids, work closely with them—”

“Closely?”

“God, Faye! I’m not going to entertain your insecurities and suspicions. The scenarios you make up.”

“Make up? I saw you with your hand on her—”

“Your imagination is sick, Faye. You’re not well. I’ve told you before; go and see someone about it. I’ll pay.”

“I am not ill, Derek. I know what I saw.”

He pursed his lips. “There’s nothing I can say that’ll convince you when you’re like this. If you—”

“What do you mean, ‘like this’? When do I—”

“That’s exactly what I mean. You won’t listen so there’s no point having this discussion.”

Derek scooped food onto his fork and put it in his mouth. Faye stared at him. She had no appetite. He chewed and swallowed.

“Please, Faye. Don’t be one of those women. The kind who make up problems so that their lives seem more interesting than they are. You have nothing to worry about. Whatever you think you saw today and whatever conclusions you leapt to, you’re mistaken.”

She pretended she believed him. After a while, it seemed to her she did. It was okay unless she allowed herself to interrogate her thoughts, which she tried not to do. But now, staring at the note, “Lunch with Derek Mackenzie,” it was difficult.