“Hi,” she said, as economically as Finn. There was something about the peace of the place that encouraged a spirit of quietness, however it didn’t seem to have touched Geoffrey. They watched him cavorting across the pool with absolute joy and abandon, splashing through the shallows, pirouetting with excitement.

“He’s such a water dog,” Finn said. “Apologies if he soaked you.”

“It’s fine,” Lucy said.

“May I?” Finn gestured to the space beside her.

“Be my guest,” Lucy said. “I suspect this spot is more yours than mine anyway. I only discovered it today. I hadn’t walked down the valley before.”

Finn eased himself down onto the dry grass beside her. He was silent. It was restful. A bee hummed through the purple and yellow wildflowers; Lucy remembered scabious and harebell and vetch from the times that Verity had taken her for walks as a child. It was odd what children remembered, she thought. She’d not needed to name a wildflower in the twenty years since. Those were yellow iris and water mint around the edge of the pool—she could smell the scent, and when Geoffrey plopped himself down next to her, panting and wet, he smelled minty too.

“Geoffrey!” Lucy said reproachfully, but Geoffrey just pressed his warm wet body closer to her leg, his eyes begging for some of the cheese he could smell in the bag, and Lucy felt unexpected happiness bubble up in her and she laughed.

“You’re shameless,” she told him, breaking off a small piece and holding it out to him. “You’re welcome to some food as well,” she added, to Finn.

“Thanks.” Finn reached out and took a chunk of the baguette, covering it liberally with butter and cheese. Lucy thought she heard Geoffrey give a little moan of covetousness.

“I see you’ve put one of the test pits over on the far side of the pool,” Lucy said, nodding toward the spot where a one-meter-square hole had been dug out and carefully covered over. “Was this the site of the summerhouse you mentioned the other day?”

Finn paused before replying. There was something very measured about everything he did, Lucy thought. She wondered whether he ever openly displayed emotion or spoke impetuously. Then she remembered the way he had crumpled the can in his hand when Persis had spoken of the Odin legend. There had been plenty of anger and passion there. Tonight however, his mood seemed a little easier, as though he had shed some of the unhappiness that had previously clung to him.

“I used to think that the lake was the culmination of the whole design,” Finn said slowly. “I imagined that the garden started up at the cottage—or manor house, as it was then—encompassed the valley, and finished here with the bathing pool and the summerhouse. But now I realize I got it wrong and that the focus of the design was in the center.”

“Oh?” Lucy was intrigued.

Finn leaned over on one elbow, drawing with a fingertip in the sand that bordered the pool. “If you imagine the manor house here—” he drew a little square “—we know from the old maps that it faced south and had a main entrance on the front, just like today. But behind the house, facing north, was a terrace with ornamental planting, and probably obelisks and statues, and an arbor or two. Most of that is under the garage and courtyard now, but there’s a remnant of it left.”