tried not to look at the empty space in the wardrobe where Tom’s suit had been, or the spot by the door where his shoes usually were. By some enormous effort of willpower—or perhaps it was merely fatigue—I thought only of the port and lemon that awaited me. The sickly first mouthful, the burning aftertaste. I’d arranged to meet Julia for a drink in the Queen’s Park Tavern, and had invited Sylvie to join
