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Iris carried a bowl of beautifully ripe tomatoes and a fresh-from-the-oven onion tart out to the terrace, put them on the table, and walked down the path toward the walled garden. Red flowers—lobelias, geums, and salvias—spilt onto the path, their colors so bright that Iris felt momentarily dizzy.
She stopped for a moment, took a few deep breaths, then continued on her way. At the entrance to the walled garden, she stopped and watched Joseph as he wheeled a barrow of huge stones to the corner they’d earmarked for a rockery, then lifted them out one by one, the muscles in his arms straining as he laid them alongside others already there. She waited until he’d placed the last one.
“Lunch is ready!” she called.
Joseph straightened up and gave her a smile tinged with relief. “Thanks, Iris, I could do with a break.”
“It’s looking great.”
“Only another fifty barrowloads of rocks to go. Shame Laure’s in Paris today, she could have helped,” he added, laughing. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not yet. She’ll only just have arrived at their apartment.”
They walked to the terrace and Joseph went to the tap to wash his hands.
“Isn’t Gabriel joining us?” he asked, when he caught up with Iris, nodding at the table set for two.
“He went into town for some shopping, so I’m not expecting him back anytime soon.”
Joseph pulled out a chair and sat down. “This looks amazing, Iris. I was only expecting a sandwich. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Even I know how many onions you need to prepare for an onion tart.”
Iris reached for a tomato and began to slice it. Without warning, blood rushed to her head. Blinded by a bout of heart-stopping dizziness, she dropped the knife to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Joseph’s voice, deep with concern, came from a long way off.
Iris nodded, her eyes closed. “Too much sun. It was stifling in London yesterday, and now again today.”
“Have some water.” He pushed a glass into her hand. “And let me do that.” Reaching across the table, he took the tomato from her.
Iris’s hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips. She took small sips until she felt calm again.
“Sorry about that,” she said, embarrassed. “I should really wear a hat when the sun’s as fierce as it has been.”
“No need to apologize. But a hat is probably a good idea.”
Iris let him serve the onion tart. They’d barely begun eating when Gabriel appeared.
“Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to wait for your shopping. There’s so much traffic I turned back. I’ll go this evening when it’s quieter.”
Iris pushed back from the table, her appetite gone. “Here, have my place. I’m not hungry anyway.”
She barely heard his protests as she went into the house and upstairs to the bedroom. She lay down on the bed, and the murmur of their voices lulled her to sleep.
She was woken by the sound of her mobile ringing. She squinted groggily at the screen. It was Laure. She snatched up her phone.
“Laure. How did it go?”
“I’m at Gare du Nord.” Laure’s voice was heavy with tears. “I managed to change my ticket for an earlier train. It’s leaving now so I’ll be at St. Pancras at around five thirty. I’ve looked up the trains from Waterloo and I should be in Markham at seven. Can you pick me up?”
Iris checked the time. It was three o’clock. “Of course. But Laure, what happened? Why are you already on your way back?”
“He wasn’t there. Pierre wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean? You were meeting him at the apartment, weren’t you?”
“Yes, at one o’clock. But he didn’t turn up.” Laure burst into noisy tears.
“Don’t worry, Laure, we’ll sort it out,” Iris soothed. “Let me know when you’re on the train from Waterloo and I’ll meet you at the station.”
