He knew something was wrong the moment he stepped on board the Sparrowhawk. Lotti wasn’t on the foredeck and the cabin hatch, which he’d left open when he went to lunch, was closed. He pushed it open, and Elsie began to whine, then shot past him onto the rear deck and began to bark, facing the path which led past the door of the orchard wall into the woods.

Ben went down into the cabin.

At first glance, the Sparrowhawk seemed exactly as he had left it earlier. His unpacked bag lay where he had slung it on his berth. There was a half-drunk glass of water on the fold-down table, beside a copy of Great Expectations Clara had been reading. But something was missing …

“Oh no.”

Lotti’s berth was neat as a pin, the pillow plumped, the blanket smoothed and folded back.

But her mother’s soft blue butterfly shawl, which had covered the bed from the day she moved in, was gone. Ben opened the drawer at the foot of the berth where Lotti kept her clothes, but he already knew it would be empty.

Elsie was still on the rear deck, barking toward the trees. Ben knew exactly what she was telling him.

Running faster than he had ever run, Ben headed into the woods. As he ran he seethed with rage, first with Lotti for leaving without an explanation, then with himself for not understanding earlier that she was saying goodbye.

I’m glad we were friends.

But why?

After a few minutes, he spotted her through the trees, walking resolutely along the path with her rucksack on her back and Federico beside her. He yelled her name, and she stopped. Ben’s lungs were burning but he carried on running until he reached her.

“What are you doing?” Lotti looked upset. “I didn’t want you to follow me.”

“What am I doing?” he panted furiously. “What about you?”

She raised her chin. “I’m going to find my grandmother.”

Ben was bewildered. “I didn’t even know you had a grandmother!”

“Well, I do,” said Lotti calmly. “She lives in a town called Armande, and I’m walking to the station to catch the train to go there.”

“But …” Ben sat down on a tree stump, too baffled to stand. “Why didn’t you say?”

“Well, I didn’t know myself for sure until we got back from Buisseau,” Lotti admitted. “It’s an idea that’s been growing. You see, she stopped writing to me shortly after my parents died …”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Lotti. “But earlier today, Clara said something that made me think; I can’t go home until I’ve spoken to her. Not until I’m sure.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Ben felt an almost overwhelming desire to cry. “You didn’t even say goodbye!”

Lotti looked a little ashamed. “Frank didn’t say goodbye.”

“At least Frank left a note!”