The driver got the car rolling and edged through the people thronging the dock with judicious use of his horn. There were not a lot of people milling about, for the Runic and most of her passengers would be sailing on to Australia, tomorrow.

  “I can hardly wait to see Isa,” Adele said lightly, for the benefit of the driver. She didn’t doubt for a moment he would listen to every word they said. “I think I would like to sort out a room at the hotel, then go straight to her house. She’ll be so surprised!”

  And Isa would be surprised, for she had no idea Adele was no longer in England. Isa had visited Adele in England last September, and her visit had been just as much of a surprise as Adele’s would be. Only, that visit had ended badly. For months, Adele had presumed that their close friendship was at an end.

  She had been startled to receive a letter from Isa in January this year, full of gossip and observations about Cape Town and its people. The letter had read exactly like all Isa’s letters did, without reference to their harsh parting.

  Adele had wrestled with doubts and questions for a week. Then a second letter arrived, also with a complete failure to address their falling out.

  After a sleepless night, Adele had taken the letters to Melville and explained her concerns. “Isa is a dear friend,” she pointed out. “But she hinted that Hugh’s death was not accidental.”

  “What could she possibly know about that?” Melville murmured, scanning the letter.

  “Precisely,” Adele returned. “Cape Town thrives on gossip, but something of that nature…it isn’t the type of gossip one passes around. Isa is a war widow, living among friends who wouldn’t be in a position to know anything about Hugh, either.”

  “Unless that’s what they want the world to think about them,” Melville replied. He folded up the letters. “Perhaps you should drop in on your friend and find out for certain.”

  Adele took the letters back, frowning.

  “Ye don’t just drop in on someone that far away from ye,” Torin Slane said, from the depths of his armchair, where he hid behind the Irish Times newspaper. “‘tis a twenty-day trip. She’d be in need of an excuse.”

  Melville raised his brow at Adele.

  She tapped the letters against her thigh. “Why could I not just drop in on her?” she demanded. “It’s a short voyage, not a ninety-day expedition to Timbuktu.”

  “Oh, I think they travel much faster across the Sahara than that, these days,” Melville said, as Slane lowered the newspaper to consider Adele curiously. “A holiday to the Cape, to visit old friends and get away from the winter.” For it was snowing, outside, and the streets were dismal with black slush and fog. “Take Leighton with you.”

  Adele opened her mouth to protest.

  Melville raised his brow again.

  She closed her mouth and nodded. “Very well,” she had said stiffly, instead, and had booked passage on the White Star Line’s SS Runic, leaving in ten days’ time.

  Now they were actually in Cape Town, Adele could feel a nervous illness gnawing away at her innards. She had reconsidered the letters over and over—including the third breezy, light missive that had arrived just as Adele had been about to step onto the ship. She had reread them constantly, worrying and wondering why, after months of silence, Isa had suddenly begun to write once more.

  Adele had also fretted, because Melville had never denied that Hugh had been working for him, not even when she had shown him Isa’s letters and told him what Isa had said about the house fire that had killed Hugh and sweet, little Edward. Yet Melville had never confirmed it, either.

  Only, sending Adele to Cape Town to verify that Isa was the innocent widow she seemed to be implied that Hugh had been working for him. Or else, why look into this?

  Was Isa something other than what she appeared to be? Just as Adele was?

  Hence Adele’s need to hurry from the hotel as soon as her trunk was settled in her room. Daniel didn’t try to dissuade her from hurrying, even though he had listened to her arguments and reasoning over the letters and disagreed with hers and Melville’s interpretations.

  “You had an argument, now she wants to forget it ever happened and return to the way things have always been,” Daniel insisted over dinner one night shortly after they had crossed the equator. “I know exactly how she feels. Rubbing against you the wrong way is akin to scouring one’s skin with gravel.”

  At the hotel, several porters had carried their trunks inside while the doorman escorted them to the front desk. The foyer was a white, cavernous affair, with potted palms surrounding rounded pillars holding up the high roof.

  “Will you be dining shortly, my lord?” the doorman asked Daniel, indicating the entrance to the dining room, from where the smell of roast mutton and the chink of cutlery against china wafted.

  A small sign mounted on a stand sat at the entrance to the dining room. It announced: Europeans only.

  Adele drew in a breath and let it out as she considered the sign. She had dined many times in this establishment, and it had not been there before.

  “Not today,” Daniel answered the doorman. “We have an engagement we are late for.”

  The doorman got the hint. He bowed and headed back to his doorway. Adele silently thanked Daniel for remembering her need for haste.

  At the desk, the ledger was completed and keys produced. Footmen and porters whisked Daniel away to his room, while a second set escorted Adele to the third floor, unlocked her room and gave her the key.

  Adele paused only long enough to peer in the mirror, tuck away a few stray hairs, straighten up her suit and tug down the cuffs of her shirt…and wish she’d worn only a camisole beneath the jacket, with a disguising bit of lace at the neck.

  But she would survive until she spoke to Isa. That was all she cared about for now.

  Daniel was not waiting in the foyer when she got there, and she resisted the urge to pace, or to demand the front desk find him for her. She rested her hands on the handle of her parasol and contained her impatience.

  He came striding in through the front door of the hotel a few minutes later, waving his hat to fan his face, as he came toward her.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, honestly puzzled.

  “I didn’t like the way the cab driver soaked up everything we said, on the way here,” Daniel said. “Watching my tongue will grow wearisome and there is never a cab about when one really needs one. So I rented a cab for the duration of our stay and dismissed the driver.” He held out his elbow. “Shall we?”

  “You rented a whole car?” Adele repeated, sliding her hand under his elbow. “One can do that?”

  “We came to an arrangement,” Daniel assured her. “He only fleeced me a little bit—he’ll come out of it better off than he would plying his usual trade and we are free to come and go as we wish.”

  They stepped out of the hotel and Daniel led her over to an open-topped motor vehicle drawn up by the footpath. The doorman nodded at them as they passed.

  Daniel handed her into the passenger seat beside the driver.

  “What type of car is this? I’ve never seen one before,” Adele asked.

  “It’s a…” Daniel moved around the vehicle, inspecting the sides, looking for a badge. “A Ford…ah! It’s one of those American cars.”

  “But don’t they seat the driver on the left-hand side of the car, over there?”

  Daniel moved around to the front of the vehicle, pushed his jacket and shirt sleeve up his arm, and said, “I remember an article in the Times about the way they build them over there. There is a whole line of workers dedicated to building cars for countries whose drivers drive on the left, like England.” He gripped the crank shaft. “And her colonies,” he added and cranked swiftly.

  Once the car was running, he climbed in behind the steering wheel. Adele opened her parasol.

  Daniel turned the car into the traffic on Adderley Street. The breeze of their passage was pleasant against their faces. “I was looking at a street map the concierge provided—it was partly because of the map that made me think we should secure our own vehicle. Cape Town is much larger than I realized.”

  Adele smiled. “Just because it is a colony, that doesn’t mean it is under-developed.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me. This is my first colony,” Daniel replied. There was no heat in his voice.

  She rested her hand on his knee.

  “I know Isa lives on Bree Street,” Daniel continued. “I’ve stared at the back of those envelopes for two weeks. The map says we can get there via Strand Street—”

  “No, not that way,” Adele said quickly. “I’ll tell you how to get there.”

  Daniel glanced at her, then back at the road ahead. “I’m sorry. How stupid of me.”

  “You didn’t know. How could you?” She cleared her throat. “There is another way there. It’s slightly more roundabout, but it is a nice day.”

  “It is a hot day,” Daniel added.

  “Lovely and hot,” Adele agreed, with a smile.

  She directed Daniel to continue down Adderley Street in the direction of the harbor, which was the way they had arrived. Then she had him turn left, and drive through quiet residential streets until they reached Bree Street and turned left again.

  “Just along here. The one with the sugarbushes in the front by the fence.”

  “The what?”

  “The red flowers—see?” She pointed.

  Daniel brought the car to a gentle stop by the edge of the road. There was no curb, only faded lawn that crept along the edges of the hard earth road. Tall shady yellowwood trees lined the street, casting welcome shade over the road.

  Nothing moved on the street. No other traffic stirred. No one stepped out of their house to see who had arrived. Adele could hear crickets ticking, a sparrow fussing in the tree overhead, and far away, a crow calling its die-away song.

  “Lonely,” Daniel observed, letting the engine halt.

  “It’s the afternoon. It often grows quiet at this time of the day,” Adele observed.

  “Like in Spain?” He got out of the car and came around to open her door and held out his hand.

  “No, not a formal siesta. Just a slowing of the pulse, while the heat lasts.” She climbed out and shook out the simple skirt of her suit. “I liked to take off my boots and sit by any window with a breeze, when it became very hot. And this is not a hot day, by Cape Town standards.”

  “It’s hot enough,” Daniel said, heading for Isa’s house.

  “Englishman,” she teased.

  “And glad of it,” he replied firmly.

  They stepped up onto the verandah, with its scrollwork and brightly painted filigree, and were plunged into deep shade. Adele moved over to the door and opened the screen, then tapped on the door with her knuckles. Few houses had butlers and bell pushes, here.

  Her heart was hurrying far too quickly as she waited for someone to come to the door. She had spent many enjoyable hours in Isa’s big, high-ceilinged kitchen, struggling over German pronunciations, and laughing ruefully at the differences between English and German. Isa had laughed with her, often with Edward bouncing on her knee.

  Light footsteps. Then the door opened.

  It was Isa.

  Her golden hair was still short, which made her blue eyes seem even larger. Her greeting died unspoken, as her unrouged lips parted. She stared at Adele, her throat working. She put a hand to her chest. “You’re…here.”

  “Surprise, darling!” Adele said, trying to smile. Only, she could barely form the happy expression because something was wrong. Isa was not reacting in any way Adele had anticipated. She had expected that perhaps Isa would be angry for surprising her, or happily upset, perhaps. Maybe even stiffly formal until they talked out the hard moments that had marked their last parting.

  Adele had not at all expected this blank…fear.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Isa said. “Go home, Adelaide.” She shut the door before Adele could protest.

  DANIEL TOOK HER ARM AND lead her back to the car.

  “That was peculiar,” he murmured as he settled Adele in the passenger seat once more. He set about cranking the car once more, then got in beside her. Over the noise of the motor, he lifted his voice only just enough to be heard.

  “It was all wrong,” Adele said. “I must think about this.”

  “Let’s go back to the hotel and have a late lunch,” Daniel suggested. “We could both do with some tea.”

  She nodded. “Tea sounds very good.” And perhaps a brandy to go with it.

  Daniel left Adele to mull over what had just happened. He didn’t speak to her again until they were sitting at a dining table. After the waiters had gone, Daniel leaned closer to her. “Europeans only?” he said quietly. His expression grew wise and somber. “That doesn’t mean people born in Cape Town are not permitted to dine here, does it?”

  Adele grimaced. “Europeans is how they refer to white people.”

  Daniel sat back. “Slane warned me about that.”

  “Did he?” She supposed it shouldn’t be shocking that Torin Slane was even more well informed about the Cape Colony than she. He seemed to know a little about everything and rather much more about a surprising range of subjects.

  Their meal arrived shortly after that and Adele realized she was very hungry. The roast lamb was excellent, as always. As they ate, they spoke very little, and the dining room gradually emptied of diners who had taken their lunch at the normal hour.

  It wasn’t until they had a fresh pot of tea in front of them and a brandy balloon each that Daniel said, “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

  Adele sighed and sat back. “I thought her reaction was all wrong, but then I realized that this whole letter business has been wrong from the start.” She paused. “Isa shutting the door in my face says that something far more serious is afoot, something other than her being offended that I lied to her.” She hesitated. “Do you agree?”

  He stirred his tea. “I think you are right. There is something rather odd going on.”

  Adele nodded. “I would suggest that we watch her house…and watch Isa, too—even though it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, merely thinking about it. But there is only two of us. We can’t keep watching her all the hours of the day. And her street is too quiet. We’ll be noticed.”

  Daniel tilted his head. “Perhaps someone is counting on that?”

  Adele sat up. “You mean, they were watching us today?”

  Daniel frowned. “I didn’t feel as though anyone was watching us. Did you?”

  She knew what he meant. She had experienced the frisson of invisible fingers tiptoeing up her spine before—a sensation that she was being watched, which had been correct, she had later discovered.

  “Not a single ripple of unease,” she told Daniel, now.

  “So.” He lifted the teapot and gestured toward her cup.

  She shook her head.

  “This is your operation,” he said quietly, re-filling his own teacup. “What do you want to do?”

  Adele watched him pour. “I’m going to do what seems most natural for a friend to do when they arrive back in town after an absence.”

  “You mean, go to visit her?” He put the tea pot down.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “The second most natural thing to do. I will write her a letter and tell her where I am staying, and ask her to contact me when she has a moment.”

  “Isn’t that…dangerous? She could simply ignore your letter and we’ll be left kicking our heels until we return home.”

  “It is a risk,” Adele agreed. “But if I am right about what I think is happening, then she will write back.”

  THE POSTAL SERVICE IN CAPE Town did not provide twelve daily deliveries, the way the London service did. Adele only remembered that fact when she presented her sealed letter to the concierge and ask him to drop it into the next mail pick-up and was told that would be in the morning.

  She informed Daniel of the delay.

  “Then we should take a drive this afternoon, when it is cooler. You can point out the landmarks for me,” Daniel declared, which they did. Adele guided him around the town, pointing out Signal Hill, Lion’s Head, and Table Mountain, and the public beaches at the foot of the mountains, including the beach where African penguins sunned themselves.

  As the day cooled, the drive became more pleasant. More people were out and going about their business. Adele and Daniel were behaving exactly as someone might the first time they arrived in the colony. If they were being observed, they would appear to be perfectly boring.

  That night, they dined early and lingered over the meal, talking of nothing of consequence. Dinner parties, the coming season, who would be introduced to the King this year, and other utterly unimportant matters. Then they retired to their rooms to sleep. Sometime later in the night, Adele opened her door when she heard Daniel’s light tap, and he slid into the dark room like a shadow.

  The next morning, not long after breakfast, a letter was delivered to Adele’s room. It was from Isa.

  “She wants to meet for afternoon tea, right here in the hotel,” Adele told Daniel, who was lounging on her bed, studying the map of the Cape.

  He looked up. “You don’t look pleased about that,” he pointed out. “But you said she would write back, and she did.”

  “It’s the reason why she replied that make me look this way,” Adele told him.

  “Which is…?”

  “I still am not sure why she behaved as she did when we stopped by her house yesterday, but Isa writing to me fits the pattern. She has initiated the contact both times—with her letters to me in London, and now with this letter proposing afternoon tea.” She frowned down at the letter. “Her conditions…her terms,” she murmured. “It doesn’t all fit together yet. Perhaps when we speak this afternoon, I’ll understand better what is driving her.”

  After lunch, Adele dressed with care. The ways of dealing with the hottest part of the year were returning to her swiftly. When she had departed Cape Town, ladies’ hems still swept the ground. Now, daytime hems were an inch or two higher, showing off ones’ boots and—among the most daring of ladies—an inch of ankle, too. Petticoats had been reduced to only one or two. Hats had grown in the opposite direction, becoming larger and larger. In Cape Town, the wider brims were welcome, though. Muslin was still very acceptable as a fabric, and it was lighter and cooler than most, including linen.