There was something slightly off, though, especially in Nina’s body language. At any given moment, she might be leaning toward Scott with her arms wrapped around herself; or beaming at him while angling her hips away, closing herself off. Emily had learned to analyze physicality in acting class, and there were some very mixed messages being thrown around.

She watched them watching her watching them, wondering if the feeling in her belly was admiration or jealousy. Probably a little of both, she decided. Resting her head on the back of the chair, she stretched her legs out under the table and stared at the fire in the brazier. Sparks rose from the flames like paper lanterns, and for some reason she was reminded of something she’d seen at a museum once: a short film narrated in a slick, booming voice about the uncharted vastness of the universe and the comparative insignificance of planet Earth. It said that the sun would one day die, and then so would all of human life, and Emily had felt sick with fear at the smallness and the hugeness and the futility of it all. Sitting there at the table, that same sense of hugeness returned, except the fear was replaced with hope and joy, and a conviction that the very opposite was true: that everything mattered.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the magic.

Somewhere close by, a voice whispered in the dark. She heard the scrape of a chair on the flagstones, the brush of bare toes on the floor. Something lightly skimmed her shoulders—fingertips—and under the table, a foot nudged against hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

SCOTT

IN THE morning, Scott woke up alone. He didn’t remember going to bed, but there he was, naked and twisted in the sheets. Nina was nowhere to be seen, and there was no evidence to suggest she’d even slept there.

Shivering, he rolled away from the sweaty imprint his body had made in the mattress. Peeling the damp sheets off his skin as he went, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There were sounds coming from outside: laughter, and the clink of plates. He checked the time and was surprised to find that it was already past ten.

He showered, dressed, and made his way downstairs. In the kitchen, he was greeted by the smell of coffee and a table laden with food. There was a freshly baked baguette, butter, homemade jam, swirls of pastry, granola, and a rainbow of fresh fruit. Under an upturned dish, he found several rashers of bacon and two poached eggs, still warm. He ate standing up, listening out for the voices he’d heard earlier, but there was no sign of the girls.

When after half an hour they still hadn’t appeared, he went looking for them, ambling around both houses and through the gardens; opening and shutting doors; peeping around corners and over hedges. He could hear them. They were nearby but, it seemed, invisible. He became irritated, convinced they were watching him from some little hidey-hole and sniggering at his confusion. But finally, after hearing a squeal coming from the very bottom of the property, he knew just where to look.

Just beyond the low wall that separated Querencia from the cliffs, there was a spot where the rocks sloped and flattened out, the layers of stone reaching like fingers for the creeping tide. A narrow track led down to a precarious wooden walkway on stilts, at the end of which was an ancient fishing hut. It was sun-bleached and rather wonky, the weather having warped the timber long ago, but the carrelet was one of Scott’s favorite places to while away an hour or two. Nina hated it, though—the way the shack swayed over the water made her seasick—so he was both amazed and delighted when, as he climbed over the wall and made his way down the walkway, he found his wife leaning over the railing and pointing at the ocean with a huge smile on her face.

Next to her, Emily and Aurelia bounced up and down with glee as they pressed the button that lowered the pulley-operated net. The rusty mechanism screeched as it got going, masking the sound of Scott’s steps, enabling him to creep up behind Nina and wrap his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Her laughter bounced off the rocks and skipped into a bluebird sky, joining the seagulls whirling overhead.

They stayed for hours, the four of them taking turns to lower the net. They caught shrimp, river herring, bass, and even a lamprey eel, all of which they threw back at Aurelia’s wordless insistence. Then Emily pulled lunch from a wicker hamper: cold meats, cheeses, and another baguette, and a chilled bottle of Sancerre.

Croquet followed, rowdy and hilarious, on the lawn between the houses. Emily was adorable, all knees and elbows and completely incapable of hitting the ball in the right direction.

After that, they all jumped in the pool, and Emily led them in a series of games and races. Marco Polo, inflatable relays, noodle jousting, sharks and minnows. Scott was taken aback, first by how well Aurelia could swim (she could barely float the last time he’d been in the water with her), and then by how much he enjoyed himself. It felt good to let go and get competitive, to splash and shout and cheer like an idiot, to flick the water from his hair and feel his body grow weak with laughter.

He felt young again, the atmosphere charged with a powerful energy reminiscent of school camps and teenage parties. He found himself touching Nina often, laying an arm over her shoulders or a hand on her neck, flicking a glance at Emily to see if she was watching. She always was.

* * *

By six thirty that afternoon, Scott had changed his mind about Nina. Maybe she really was happy. Maybe his plan was working, the Band-Aid holding. Or maybe it was just the gin. Either way, things were looking up.

He lay in a deck chair, slopping his drink—his third or fourth—around in his glass, listening to the ice cubes clinking merrily together and drifting off into a half snooze. He was vaguely aware of the sleepy smile on his face, his lowered eyelids and wobbling head, but he couldn’t muster any degree of self-control. He didn’t care enough. Everything was fine. Fine, fine, fine.

Laughter rang out to his left.

“There are all kinds of patterns and pictures in the night sky, Aurelia. Can you think of any?”

“The Plough!”

“Gold star for effort, Em, but how about we let Aurelia answer the next one?”

“Sorry, I’m overexcited!”

“Remember, Aurelia? Orion’s Belt? Looks like a saucepan? We’ll look for that one first.”

The girls were gathered around the patio table, on which sat a huge astronomical telescope. It had turned up earlier, a huge black box sitting on the front doorstep like some alien spaceship, presumably delivered by Yves while they were all in the pool. Ordinarily, Scott would’ve balked at the sight of yet another needless purchase, but his irritation was tempered by the sight of Nina, Aurelia, and Emily all running up to the box like kids to an ice-cream truck. The telescope, ordered online and tenuously justified by the fact that Aurelia had shown interest in a homeschool astronomy lesson, was sleek, shiny, and apparently extremely complicated. The girls had been deciphering the instruction manual for what felt like hours.

Scott continued to listen as he dozed.

“This is going to be so cool,” Emily was saying. “I used to love stargazing when I was a kid. We never had a telescope, though. We just went outside and looked up.”

“A long time ago,” Nina said, “people used the stars to navigate. Did you know that, Aurelia? By day, sailors would use the position of the sun, but at night they looked at the sky to find their way. Now, of course, they use computers and satellites, but explorers didn’t have any of those back then.”

“Imagine that, Aurelia,” said Emily. “Hundreds of years ago, if I wanted to sail home from here I would’ve followed the pattern of the stars.”

Under the clink and screw of the telescope parts, Nina’s voice was steady. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” she said, “you’re already home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EMILY

“TOP UP?”

Emily nodded and moved her glass too quickly, almost shattering the rim against the thick green neck of the bottle. “Shit.” A giggle popped out of her mouth like a hiccup. “Too eager.”

Scott upended the bottle into her glass. “Another one bites the dust,” he said, shaking out the last drops.

They were sitting at the edge of the pool with their feet in the water, so close that their upper arms were touching. The tiles under their skin were still warm from the heat of the day, though the sun had long ago dipped below the horizon. A full pink moon hung spectacularly above their heads. The light was silver, the air like satin, and every now and then, the toes of Emily’s left foot would bump up against Scott’s right ankle. His musky, woody smell filled her nose.

She sipped the prosecco, knowing that this would be the glass that would tip her over the edge. She hadn’t meant to get quite so drunk, not after last night (she’d woken up that morning on top of the sheets, still in the olive-green dress, with a vague memory of stumbling up the driveway clinging onto Nina like a wayward toddler), but the day had been so fun, so perfect, that her resolve to stay sober had crumbled before lunch.