Ethan didn’t reply, sitting perfectly still while the second hand on the kitchen clock ticked past five seconds.

At eleven o’clock, I walked into the estate library alone and closed the heavy mahogany door behind me.

Ethan was standing by the high bay window, watching the groundskeepers shovel snow off the stone terrace.

He turned around when the latch clicked, his hands hanging loose at his sides, his gold signet ring no longer on his finger.

“Natalie left for Denver at eight this morning,” Ethan said.

“She took her bags and her car.”