Chapter 6

The morning I was finally leaving, someone knocked.

I'd assumed it was Gerald's people. I had my bag ready by the door.

It was Bryce. Out of breath, holding a large cardboard box.

"Zara — I found this by the bins two nights ago. Why did you throw it all out?"

He'd retrieved the whole thing.

I looked at the time.

"It's rubbish," I said. "Rubbish belongs in a bin."

"You can't mean that. These are — look, there are all the train tickets." He opened the top of the box and fanned them out — dozens of them, National Rail, every trip he'd made between Bristol and the city where I'd been studying. "And the pottery figures. I made those with my own hands."

His voice cracked.

He was genuinely upset. That surprised me, somehow. As though I'd forgotten that people can mourn the things they threw away.

I said: "You made a choice. The moment you made it, all of this became irrelevant."

He tried to say something else.

The front door opened.

A man in a well-cut dark suit stepped into the hallway and gave me a precise, polite bow.

"Miss Hartley. Mr. Harrington sends his apologies — he's in a meeting that couldn't be moved. But there's a car at the airport. Dr. Smith will be available to see you in London this evening."

I reached for my bag.