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and relaxed, talking to a friend in front of the majestic view. Frogsy and Drew. He’d never mentioned friends with those names, and nobody from his time in the Blue Mountains had contacted him down in Tasmania. I went carefully through the book, looking for more photographs. There were none, but I did find an inscription at the start of the book, in blue handwriting: Happy nineteenth birthday, and here’s to many more years of joy. Love from Frogsy.
    Adam didn’t get as many years as Frogsy had wished him, andcertainly few were filled with joy. I put the book aside and gazed at the photo a long time. Frogsy was an unusual name. Did he still live around here? But then I realized: Frogsy was a nickname. Maybe it rhymed with something, or maybe he looked like a frog, or wore a lot of green. Unless he still used the nickname, I’d be unlikely to find him. Still, I’d show Penny the photograph and ask her. Or even Lizzie; she had lived here a long time.
    These were the thoughts running through my mind when I heard a knock at my door.
    “Tomas!” I said as I opened the door, pulling my dressing gown tightly together. Had I completely lost track of time? “I wasn’t—”
    “I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “I have to cancel.”
    “Cancel?” No third date. There was never a third date.
    “Sabrina . . . my ex-wife . . . she’s had a car accident. My number was in her mobile phone as her emergency contact. I have to . . . I’m driving down to Sydney right now, getting a flight to Copenhagen.”
    His ex-wife? Wasn’t she . . . ex? Even in my confusion I recognized that it wasn’t the right time for me to ask this, so I said instead, “Of course. Is she badly hurt?”
    “Very, very badly. She’s going into emergency surgery right now. She might not make it.” He set his jaw against tears, took a breath. “I know it sounds crazy, Lauren, but she has nobody else. Both her parents are gone and she has no siblings. I need to get back there and take care of everything. I’m her oldest friend.”
    “I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing to happen. Go. Don’t worry about me.”
    He managed a half smile. “You are extraordinary. Here, I have something for you.” He picked up my hand and pressed something into it, closed my fist over it, and pulled me against him. Kissed me on the lips. So hard. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away. I’ll call.”
    Then he was gone, crunching back down the gravel beside thehouse. I heard his car pull away, and then I opened my hand and looked at what he had given me.
    It was the key to the west wing.
    *  *  *
    I obsessed, of course, about Sabrina, his ex-wife, his oldest friend. I would periodically remind myself that poor Sabrina was on death’s door and that I was being so uncharitable I would certainly go to hell, but I couldn’t help it. Scenarios would play out in which he stayed in Denmark to help her recover and ended up remarrying her. Why shouldn’t he? Who was I to make a claim on him? Two dates, which were really one very long date during which I had behaved embarrassingly. Mum was right. I was too inexperienced with men. I was vulnerable.
    But on Monday morning at three, my phone tinged loudly. I opened my eyes and picked it up. A text from Tomas. Safely in Copenhagen. Sabrina serious but stable. Still unconscious. Send me your e-mail address.
    I typed out a reply and waited in the dark, sitting up in my bed. The only sound was the thrum of my pulse.
    Ting-ting. I’ll be in touch when I can. Need some sleep. Need to contact Sab’s cousin. Solve the mystery while I’m away.
    “I will,” I typed, and pressed Send. Then I was alone in the quiet dark.
    *  *  *
    I promised myself I would start clearing out the storeroom in the west wing on Monday after my shift, but when I left the café and made my way down past the ballroom, I saw a group of men standing near the colonnade. I hung back among the overgrown hedges and watched them. I was fairly