Before he could say, “There’s no time,” she’d slipped out of the room ahead of him, and when he reached the door she had a towel and an old umbrella waiting. He grabbed them and sprinted across the gravel, trying to work the catch on the umbrella as the rain stung his skin. As he reached the car the brolly sprang open with a pop, pinching his finger, and he struggled to hold it with one hand while he wrestled the top up with the other. When the latches clicked into place, he looked down at the towel, now sodden, which he’d dropped on the bonnet, and laughed. He carried it ruefully back to Vic, and after trying unsuccessfully to wring it out with one hand, said, “Sorry.”

“I can’t believe you still have that car,” she said, so close to him now that he could see the faint dark flecks in the irises of her eyes. “You know I always hated it.”

“I know. Here’s your umbrella,” he said, hand on the catch.

“You’ll let me know, won’t you, what you find?” She touched his arm. “And Duncan, that’s not the only reason I called. I owed you something. It’s been eating at me for a long time.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “They say time heals all wounds-well, sometimes it even brings a little wisdom. We both had a lot of growing up to do.” He touched his cheek to hers, an instant’s brushing of damp skin, then turned away.

As he eased the car out of the drive he looked back, saw her still standing motionless behind the curtain of rain, watching him.

“You agreed to do what?” Gemma turned and lifted a soapy finger to push a stray wisp of hair from her face. Kincaid had shown up just as she and Toby were sitting down to their tea. Taking Toby on his lap, he’d zoomed carrot sticks into the child’s open mouth with appropriate airplane commentary, but he’d hardly touched anything himself, not even the warm meat pies her mother had sent from the bakery. Nor had he said anything about his day until she had asked him, and then his account of his meeting with Vic had been cursory at best.