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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.
    ”I only said I’d get in touch with an old mate of mine on the Cambridge force, see if I could have a look at the file,” he said now, and it seemed to her that his tone was deliberately casual.
    Gemma unstoppered the sink in her cupboard-sized kitchen and dried her hands on a tea towel before she turned. From where she stood she could see Toby in the boxroom that served as his bedroom, rooting in a basket for a favorite picture book Kincaid had promised to read to him. ”Why?” she said, trying to pitch her voice low enough so that Toby wouldn’t hear. ”Why would you volunteer to do anything for her? This woman walked out on you without a word, without a note, marries another bloke as soon as the ink on the divorce papers is dr)’, and twelve years later she reappears and wants you to do her a favor? What are you thinking of?”
    Kincaid had been sitting on the floor, playing at blocks with Toby. Now he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at her. ”It’s not like that—it wasn’t like that at all. You don’t know her. Vic’s a decent person and she’s having a rough time just now, as you certainly should know. What would you have had me do?”
    The direct jab stung, but she knew from his tone that she’d ventured into forbidden territory, so she smiled, trying to make light of it. ”Oh, tell her to sod off, I suppose. To wherever it is ex-wives are supposed to go and never be heard from again.”
    ”Don’t be silly, Gemma,” he said, not sounding the least bit amused. ”Look, I’ll ring Alec Byrne in Cambridge tomorrow, see if he’ll let me have an unofficial look at Lydia Brooke’s file. Then I’ll put Vic’s mind to rest, and that will be that. Let’s not quarrel about this, all right?”
    ”Me found it, Mummy!” shrieked Toby as he came trotting into the sitting room bearing aloft a book in a tattered dust jacket. ”Alfie’s Boots.” He tugged on Duncan’s trouser leg. ”Read me it, Duncan