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decorated with magnificent plasterwork. To one side was a hall whose walls were completely covered with mirrors. Marcy made her way to the reception desk, the reflections of her mother and daughter mimicking each step.
    “Where do I go to rent a car?” she asked a middle-aged woman behind the counter. The woman had sleek black hair pulled into a bun.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t advise renting a car in Dublin,” the woman, whose name tag identified her as Lynette, said cheerily in her thick Irish brogue. “It’s much easier getting around the city without one.”
    “I’m thinking of taking a drive into the countryside.”
    “Have you driven on Irish roadways before?”
    “No, but—”
    “They’re a little tricky, especially for people who are used to driving on the other side of the road.”
    Marcy smiled, trying not to feel insulted by the woman’s concern. It’s my hair, Marcy was thinking. If I had straight, manageable hair like she has, she wouldn’t be questioning my competence. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    Lynette smiled indulgently as she handed Marcy a map of the city, drawing a big red circle over the area where the major car rental offices were located. “It’s a shame you didn’t think to rent a car in advance,” she said. “You’d have gotten a much better rate.”
    First Peter expected her to think about what she was saying, and now a total stranger expected her to think
in advance
, Marcy thought in amazement, taking the map from Lynette’s hand and deciding to walk the few blocks, to get all the paperworktaken care of tonight so she’d be ready to leave for Cork first thing in the morning.
    “Of course they’re all closed at this hour,” Lynette said.
    “Of course.” Now she’d have to waste a valuable chunk of the morning just getting organized. So much for advance thinking. Her stomach growled, as if underlining her displeasure. “Do you happen to know a nice restaurant in the area, nothing too fancy …?”
    “There’s Flannery’s over on O’Connell Street. The food’s good. Simple, but good.” Lynette took back the map from Marcy’s hand and circled the spot.
    “Thanks. I’ll give it a try.” Marcy was walking through the lobby when she heard a now-familiar voice call out her name. What was he doing here? she wondered, pretending she hadn’t heard him and continuing toward the front entrance.
    “Marcy?” he called again.
    She spun around, the suddenness of her movement obviously catching him by surprise, so that his hand, which had been reaching for her elbow, grazed the side of her breast. His touch sent a spasm of electricity charging through her body. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched her breast, however inadvertently. In the waning years of their marriage, Peter hadn’t even tried. When Devon left them, she’d taken with her whatever intimacy still existed between them.
    “Vic.” Marcy acknowledged him now, noting that he smelled of soap and shampoo and that he’d changed his clothes since she’d seen him less than an hour ago. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater that emphasized the intense blueness of his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were staying at this hotel.”
    “I’m not. I’m at the Morgan, just down the block.”
    “Why are you here?” she heard herself ask.
    He laughed. “That’s right, I almost forgot. You’re not much for small talk.”
    “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. You just surprised me.” You touched my breast, she thought, dismayed to find her flesh still tingling. “I didn’t expect to see you again. How did you know where to find me?”
    “The bus let you off at your hotel,” Vic said with a shrug. “Not exactly Sherlock Holmes.”
    Of course, Marcy thought, remembering that she’d rushed off in such a hurry, she hadn’t even said good-bye.
    He continued. “I thought I’d take a chance you might be free for dinner.”
    “You want to have dinner with me?”
    “I tried calling your room,