‘Well, he is her director of studies, after all.’

‘Oh – I see.’ Mariana nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, of course.’

8

Mariana took Zoe out for lunch. They went to a nearby French brasserie that had recently opened. It was popular with starving students who had visiting relatives.

It was a good deal more sophisticated than the restaurants Mariana remembered from her days as a student. It was busy, and there was the sound of conversation and laughter, and cutlery chiming on plates. It smelled enticingly of garlic and wine and sizzling meat. An elegant waiter, in a waistcoat and tie, directed Mariana and Zoe to a booth in the corner, which had a white tablecloth and black leather seats.

Somewhat extravagantly, Mariana began by ordering half a bottle of rosé champagne. This was unlike her, and Zoe raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, why not?’ said Mariana with a shrug. ‘We could use cheering up.’

‘I’m not complaining,’ said Zoe.

When the champagne arrived, the pink bubbles, fizzing and sparkling in thick crystal glasses, lifted their spirits considerably. They didn’t discuss Tara or the murder at first. They jumped around from topic to topic, catching up. They spoke about Zoe’s studies at St Christopher’s, and how she felt about entering her third year – and her frustrating lack of clarity about her life and what she wanted to do.

And then they spoke about love. Mariana asked Zoe if she was seeing anyone.

‘Of course not. They’re such boys here.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m totally happy being self-partnered. I’ll never fall in love.’

Mariana smiled. She sounded so young, she thought, when she talked like that. Still waters. She suspected that despite Zoe’s protestations, when she did fall, it would be hard and deep.

‘One day,’ Mariana said, ‘you’ll see. It’ll happen.’

‘No.’ Zoe shook her head. ‘No, thanks. As far as I can see, love only brings sorrow.’

Mariana had to laugh. ‘That’s a little pessimistic.’

‘Don’t you mean realistic?’

‘Hardly.’

‘What about you and Sebastian?’

Mariana was unprepared for this blow, decidedly below the belt, and delivered so casually. It took her a second to find her voice.

‘Sebastian brought me a lot more than sorrow.’

Zoe was immediately apologetic. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you – I—’

‘I’m not upset. It’s okay.’

But it wasn’t okay. Being here, in this lovely restaurant, drinking champagne, it allowed them to pretend for a while – to escape the murder and all the unpleasantness – and exist happily in a little bubble of the present moment. But now Zoe had punctured that bubble, and Mariana felt all her sadness, worry, and fear flood back.

They ate in silence for a moment. Then Mariana said in a low voice, ‘Zoe. How are you doing …? About Tara?’

Zoe didn’t reply for a second. She shrugged. She didn’t look up.

‘Okay. Not great. I can’t stop thinking about it – the way she died, I mean. I can’t – get it out of my head.’

Zoe looked at Mariana. And Mariana felt an ache of frustrated empathy; she wanted to make it all okay, take away Zoe’s pain, the way she used to when she was a little girl – put a bandage on the wound and kiss it better – but she knew she couldn’t. She reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

‘I know it’s hard to believe right now – but it will get easier.’

‘Will it?’ Zoe shrugged. ‘It’s been over a year since Sebastian died – and it’s not any easier. It still hurts.’

‘I know.’ Mariana nodded, unable to bring herself to contradict Zoe. She was right, so there was no point. ‘All we can do,’ she said, ‘is try and honour their memory – the best way we can.’

Zoe held her gaze and nodded. ‘Okay.’

Mariana went on. ‘And the best way to honour Tara …’

‘Is to catch him?’

‘Yes. And we will.’

Zoe seemed comforted by the thought. She nodded. ‘So, have you made any progress?’

‘I have, as a matter of fact.’ Mariana smiled. ‘I spoke to Tara’s bedder, Elsie. And she said—’

‘Oh God.’ Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘Just so you know, Elsie is a sociopath. And Tara hated her.’

‘Oh, really? Elsie said they were very close … Elsie also said that you were rude to her.’

‘Because she’s a psycho, that’s why. She gives me the creeps.’

‘Psycho’ wasn’t the word Mariana would have used, but she didn’t entirely disagree with Zoe’s impression. ‘All the same, it’s not like you to be rude.’ She hesitated. ‘Elsie also implied that you know more about this than you’re telling me.’

She watched Zoe carefully. But Zoe just shrugged it off.

‘Whatever. Did she also tell you Tara banned her from her room? Because Elsie kept coming in without knocking, trying to catch her coming out of the shower? She was practically stalking her.’

‘I see.’ Mariana thought for a moment, and reached into her pocket. ‘And what do you think about this?’

She pulled out the postcard she had found in Tara’s room. She translated the quotation, and asked Zoe what she thought. ‘Do you think it’s possible that Tara might have written it?’

Zoe shook her head. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, Tara didn’t really give a shit about Greek tragedy, to be honest.’

Mariana couldn’t help but smile. ‘Any ideas about who might have sent it?’

‘Not really. It’s such a weird thing to do. Such a creepy quote.’

‘What about Professor Fosca?’

‘What about him?’

‘Do you think it might be him?’

Zoe shrugged. She didn’t look convinced. ‘I mean, maybe – but why send a message in Ancient Greek? And why that message?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Mariana nodded to herself. She eyed Zoe for a moment. ‘Tell me about him. About the professor.’

‘What about him?’

‘Well, what’s he like?’

Zoe shrugged, as a slight frown appeared on her face. ‘You know, Mariana. I did tell you all about him, when he first started teaching me. I told you and Sebastian.’

‘Did you?’ Mariana nodded as it came back to her. ‘Oh, yes – the American professor. That’s it. I remember now.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes, it stuck in my head for some reason. I remember Sebastian wondered if you had a crush on him.’

Zoe pulled a face. ‘Well, he was wrong. I didn’t.’

Zoe said this with such defensiveness, such surprising vehemence, that Mariana suddenly wondered if Zoe did have a crush – and what if she did? It was hardly unusual for students to have crushes on tutors – particularly when they were as charismatic and handsome as Edward Fosca.

But then, she might be reading Zoe wrong … She might be picking up on something else entirely.

She decided to let it go, for the moment.

9

After lunch, they walked back to college along the river.

Zoe bought a chocolate ice cream, and was engrossed in eating it. They walked in companionable silence for a moment.

All the time, Mariana was conscious of a kind of double image – another faint picture projected onto this one: a memory of Zoe as a little girl, walking on this exact same pathway of broken, cracked-up stones, eating another ice cream. It was on that visit, when Mariana was a student, that little Zoe first met Sebastian. She remembered Zoe’s shyness – and how Sebastian got over it with a little magic trick, conjuring up a pound coin from behind Zoe’s ear, a trick that continued to delight her for years.

And now Sebastian was walking with them too, of course, another ghostly image projected on the present.

Funny, the things you remember. Mariana glanced at an old weathered wooden bench as they passed it. They had sat there, on that bench – she and Sebastian – after Mariana’s final exams, celebrating with prosecco mixed with crème de cassis, and smoking blue Gauloises cigarettes, stolen by Sebastian from a party the night before. She remembered kissing him, and how sweet his kisses tasted, with the faint trace of liqueur mingled with tobacco on his lips.

Zoe glanced at her. ‘You’re being very quiet. You okay?’

Mariana nodded. ‘Can we sit down for a second?’ And then, quickly, ‘Not this bench.’ She pointed at another bench, further along. ‘That one.’

They walked over to the bench and sat down.

It was a peaceful spot, in the dappled shade of a willow tree, right by the water’s edge. The willow’s branches moved in the breeze, and the ends were trailing lazily in the water. Mariana watched a punt drift by under the bridge.

Then a swan glided past, and her eyes followed it.

The swan had an orange beak, with black markings around its eyes. It looked a little worse for wear. Its once-gleaming feathers were dirty and discoloured around the neck, stained green from the river. Nonetheless, it was an impressive creature – ragged but serene, and highly imperious. It turned its long neck, and looked in Mariana’s direction.

Was it her imagination – or was it staring directly at her?

For a second, the swan held her in its gaze. Its black eyes seemed to be sizing her up, with a cool intelligence.