I remind myself of what I’ve seen. Of where he was in February. I begin to calm down as my water arrives.

‘There you go. You’re not drinking?’

‘No. I don’t.’

I see the familiar readjustment that people make when I tell them. I know they’re trying to figure out whether I’m a puritan, possibly religious, or an addict.

As usual, I say nothing. I don’t need to make excuses. Instead I look around the bar. It used to be the ticket office; people would queue here before boarding their train, and many of the old features – the wood panelling, the huge clock on the wall above us – have been retained. It’s busy; people sit with their suitcases, or newspapers. They’re eating lunch, or afternoon tea. They’re in transit, or else staying in the hotel above. For a moment I wish I were one of them. I wish the reason I find myself here could be that uncomplicated.

As if for the first time, I realize Lukas has a room, just a few floors above. The reason he thinks I’m here swims into focus.

‘Are you okay?’ he says. There’s a tension in the air; we’re hesitant. I remind myself that he thinks we’re both single and that even if his path has crossed with Kate’s there’s still no reason I should be finding this difficult.

‘Fine. Thanks.’ I pick up the glass as if to prove it. ‘Cheers!’

We chink our glasses. I try to imagine him with my sister. I can’t.

I wonder what would usually happen now. I imagine Kate, or Anna – I know she’s done this kind of thing, too. I see kissing, tearing at each other’s clothes. I see people being pushed on to a bed in fevered lust. I see naked bodies, flesh.

I sip my water. When I put my glass down there’s lipstick on the rim and I’m shocked, momentarily, by its colour. It seems bright, as if it’s in Technicolor, plus it’s not what I wear, not in the middle of the day. It’s not me. Which was the point of wearing it, of course.

I feel lost. I’d thought this would be easy. I’d thought I’d meet him and the answers would spill out, the path to the truth about what happened to Kate instantly become clear. But it’s never felt more muddied, and I don’t know what to do.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says. I grin and thank him. I look at him. He looks solid, more solid than anything has looked for a long time. I can hardly believe he’s here, that with almost no effort at all I could reach out and touch his flesh.

He smiles. I hold his gaze, but still, somehow, it’s me that feels naked. I look away. I think of Hugh, at work, a body under the sheets in front of him, flesh parted, wet and glistening. I think of Connor in the classroom, his head bent over his desk at the end of another school year, the long holidays in front of him. And then Lukas smiles and I put these feelings back, lock them away. He puts down his glass and my eyes catch on something glinting on his left hand.

I’m almost relieved. It’s a shock, but the awkwardness that has built between us is broken.

‘You’re married.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But your ring …’

He looks at his own hand, as if to check what I’ve seen, then at me. ‘I never told you?’

I shake my head. I remind myself that I can’t accuse him of deception, with the lies I’ve told.

‘I was married …’ He takes a deep breath, then sighs heavily. ‘Cancer. Four years ago.’

‘Oh.’ I’m shocked. It’s brutal. I search his eyes and see only pain. Pain, and innocence. I reach out my hand as if to take his. I do it automatically, without thinking. A moment later he reaches and takes hold of mine. There’s no crackle of electricity, no spark of energy jumping from one to the other. Even so, I’m dimly aware that this is the first time we’ve touched, and the moment therefore has significance no matter what happens next.

‘I’m so sorry.’ It feels inadequate, as it always does.

‘Thank you. I loved her very much. But life goes on. It’s a cliché, but it’s true.’ He smiles. He’s still holding my hand. Our eyes lock. I blink, slowly, but I don’t look away. I feel something, something I’ve not felt for a long time, so long I can’t quite work out what it is.

Desire? Power? A mixture of both? I can’t tell.

Once again I try to visualize him with Kate. I’d know, surely? All through our childhood I’d known what she was thinking, when she was in trouble. If this man had anything to do with her death then wouldn’t I just know?

‘I can’t bear this any more. Shall we go upstairs?’

This isn’t right. This isn’t why I came.

‘I’m sorry. Can we just talk, for a while?’

He smiles and says, ‘Of course.’ He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the chair, then takes my hand once again. I let him. We speak for a while, but it’s small talk, we’re avoiding things, though what we’re avoiding is different for each of us. For me it’s Kate, but for him? The fact he wants to take me upstairs, I guess. After a few minutes there’s a moment of decision. He’s finished his drink, mine is gone already. We can get more and carry on talking, or we can leave. There’s a hesitation, a drawing in, then he says, ‘I’m sorry. For not telling you I was married, I mean.’ I don’t reply. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why did you say you were in Paris? When we first talked, I mean.’

We’re skirting the edges now, circling in.

‘I was. I was on holiday out there.’

‘Alone?’

I think of Anna. ‘With a friend.’ I see my chance. ‘Why? When were you last there?’

He thinks for a moment. ‘September last year, I think it was.’

‘Not since?’

His head tilts. ‘No, why?’

‘No reason.’ I try a different tack.

‘You have friends there?’

‘Not really. No.’

‘No one?’

He laughs. ‘Not that I can think of!’

I pretend to look wistful. ‘I’ve always wanted to be there in winter. February. Valentine’s day in Paris, you know?’ I smile, as if dreaming. ‘Must be beautiful.’

‘So romantic.’

I sigh. ‘I guess. You’ve never been in winter?’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s funny, I can’t imagine it snowing there. I guess I associate it with the summer. You’re right, though. It must be beautiful.’

I look at my glass. Why would he lie? He doesn’t know who I am. Why would he tell me he’d never been to Paris in winter if he had?

‘So who’s your friend over there?’

I look puzzled.

‘The one you were visiting?’

‘Oh, just a friend.’ I hesitate, but I’ve already decided what I have to do. ‘I thought you might know her actually.’

‘Know her?’

‘She sometimes uses encountrz.’

He smiles. ‘I don’t know many people off that site, believe it or not.’

I force myself to laugh. ‘No?’

‘No. You’re the first person I’ve met.’

‘Really?’

‘I swear.’

I realize I believe him. He never talked to Kate. Disappointment begins to build.

‘But you talk to people on there?’

‘A few. Not that many.’

I know what I have to do. I take out my phone and unlock the screen. I’m smiling, trying to keep it light. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny …’ I’m saying ‘… such a coincidence … She’d love it if …’

I hold my phone out to him. I’ve opened a picture of Kate. I force myself to speak.

‘This is her. My friend.’

Silence. I look straight at him as he takes my phone in his hand.

‘Have you chatted to her?’

His face is expressionless. I’m aware that the next emotion that flashes in his eyes will tell me the truth. I’ve sprung the photo on him, he’s unprepared. If he’s ever seen Kate before he’ll give himself away. He has to.

There’s a long moment, then his face breaks into a grin. He looks at me. He’s shaking his head, laughing. ‘Never seen her online, no. But she looks like fun.’

I can see that he’s telling the truth. I’m certain of it. More disappointment slides in, yet it’s muted, and mixed with relief. ‘She is!’ I say. I force myself to smile and put my phone away. I begin to babble. ‘To be honest, she doesn’t go online that much. Not any more … in fact, I’m not sure she ever did, really …’