I hadn’t noticed her here before this, whether because she had sat somewhere else or because she’d just arrived.

The headwaiter came over as she pushed her plate aside and asked, “Is everything to your liking, Mrs. Campbell?”

“Yes, it was lovely, I’ve no appetite, I’m afraid.”

“Not bad news, I hope,” he ventured, frowning. “You weren’t yourself last evening either.”

Bad news was more common than good these days. Yet he’d asked as if he knew her from another visit and felt free to inquire.

She laughed, but not convincingly. “No, nothing to worry about. Perhaps the sea air will improve my spirits and my appetite.”

He cajoled her into trying the pudding, although it was clear to me that she wasn’t hungry enough to care. And she ate a little of it stoically, then signaled the waiter again, rose, and left the dining room.

The Grand Hotel had an excellent reputation. It catered to people like my parents, and they had had no qualms about leaving me here to dine alone. I was well looked after, and so it wasn’t surprising to see another woman alone.

I walked through great doors leading out to the veranda and stopped by one of the vases of fern for a few minutes to watch the waves roll in. I could sympathize in a way with Mrs. Campbell. I too needed to make a decision.

I was just on the point of turning to go up to my room when I overheard someone mention her name. There were two women sitting together just by the balustrade. They couldn’t see me for that fern, but I could just glimpse Mrs. Campbell, a shawl over her shoulders, walking down to the drive and moving on to one of the benches set out beneath specimen trees. It was the one where Simon and I’d sat that morning.

“There she is,” one of the women said in a low voice. “I told you I thought it was she.”

“Yes, you’re right. Shocking that she should show her face in such a place as this. Not after all the publicity surrounding the petition for divorce.”