Adam's text had brought them to a different house, on a street Nina didn't know. The woman at the door took Nina's coat and told her she had heard so much about her.
“Good things, I hope,” Nina said.
“Of course.”
Neither offered a name. The woman went to put the coat away. Nina stood inside a hall that smelled of candle wax and something roasting. Shoes had been lined up beneath a bench, but the woman still had hers on, so Nina kept hers too.
Iris's car pulled away outside. Nina watched its lights cross the narrow pane beside the door before she let herself be led into the room.
There were perhaps twenty people, all a little too widely spaced to have been there long. A man was laughing with his head thrown back, one hand enclosing the wrist of the person beside him. Nina recognized him from Ansel Court. He saw her and raised his glass.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“So I did. Where's your better half?”
“On his way.”
He guided her toward a man by the fireplace. “The owner. Our excuse for drinking on a work night.”
The host had soft gray hair and a new-looking sweater. He took Nina's hand in both his. There was a large watch on his wrist, with a dark face that caught the lamp.
“Adam's wife.”
“Nina.”
“He said you were beautiful.”
She gave the small laugh expected of her. She didn't know whether Adam had said it, whether that would be a kindness or another preparation for her arrival.
The host held her hand a moment longer. “You work with numbers?”
“People, mostly.”
“Better you than me.”
He released her to greet someone else. A young woman in a black shirt brought a tray of glasses, standing patiently while people continued talking across it. Nina took water. On the tray lay a folded towel with a faint brown stain.
“Where's the bathroom?” she asked.
The woman pointed with her elbow because both hands were occupied. Nina found it beyond a short passage beside the dining room. A door next to it stood half open. Inside was a small study with a desk, boxes against the wall and three photographs leaning against a chair.
In one the host stood beside a fishing boat. In another, the same boat, a different season. The third was a group outside this house. Nina could see the man from Ansel Court near the edge, smiling around someone else's head.
A woman emerged from the bathroom and saw Nina looking.
“He hasn't hung them yet. Men.”
“They just moved in?”
“Officially. It takes time to make a place yours.”
The woman straightened a photograph against the others, then drew her hand back as though she shouldn't have touched it.
“Lovely house,” Nina said.
“It is. We told him he'd like the street. I've been here years.”
She pointed vaguely through the wall, toward where her own house might have been, then went back to the party.
In the bathroom Nina shut the door and stood still for a moment. There was nothing wrong with any of it. People were awkward at parties. They gave an opinion and withdrew it, touched things and changed their minds. She had come looking for an answer and could turn every uncertainty into one if she wasn't careful.
When she came out, the host was in the kitchen rinsing something sticky from his hands. He had taken the watch off and set it in a little dish near the sink. He looked up at her.
“They won't let me do anything. In my own house.”
“You can still wash your hands.”
“For now.”
He smiled. For a moment she liked him.
Then Adam arrived.
She heard his name before she saw him. The man from Ansel slapped his back. A woman near the fireplace got up from a chair and kissed both his cheeks. Someone told him he was late, someone else told him there was a beer waiting for him, and the host went past Nina, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“Here he is. The man who makes it happen.”
He put an arm around Adam and drew him toward the room. Adam's gaze passed over Nina. Not surprise. He had expected her to be there. Something less comfortable than surprise, held in place until he could come to her.
“They're pleased with you,” she said.
“I did some work.”
“I can see.”
He took the water glass from her because it was empty. She let him, then wished she hadn't.
“There's food,” he said.
“I ate.”
“Iris?”
“Yes.”
He looked across the room at the host, who had begun telling a story about a storm. The man from Ansel laughed before the end of it.
“I know this one,” he said.
“You were there.”
“Was I?”
People laughed. The host touched his shoulder and repeated a detail, the name of a boat or a place. His companion picked up the story, a beat late, and supplied the part about losing a shoe.
Adam looked down into Nina's empty glass.
“Come eat something anyway.”
“In a minute.”
She moved past him toward the photographs on the mantel. There was a little label beneath one in the same careful hand as the place cards at the food table. Not a date. Two names. She thought of someone learning a room by walking through it: these are your friends, this is the trip you took, this is the joke they will expect you to remember.
A man stood beside her, studying the photograph too. He had a narrow beard and a rough place along his jaw where he had shaved around it badly. Nina knew the face.
Not a whole memory. A doorway. Red tile behind his shoulder.
He smiled when she turned toward him. “Good picture.”
“Were you there?”
“No. Before my time.”
“I think we've met.”
His eyes moved over her face. “I don't think so.”
“Do you work for Fieldspan?”
His smile stayed. Everything else in his face changed.
“Now and then.”
“I'm Nina Calder.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Adam's wife.”
Not Threadline. He had chosen which part of her to recognize.
“You visited a woman called Beth Rowan,” she said.
He lowered his glass. “Lots of people.”
“Do you remember her?”
“I wouldn't discuss someone's business at a party.”
“Neither would I. We could talk outside.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
He moved away before she could answer. Nina stood with her hand on the mantel, looking at the photograph without seeing it.
She'd expected a technical explanation. Different channels, shared templates, an outside source used too freely. Here was a man in a warm room drinking wine with her husband. She'd seen his face in the work she had decided was independent.
Someone laughed behind her. Adam was being asked about a stuck window. He held up his hands, surrendered and went to look at it.
Nina followed the bearded man as far as the dining room. She lost him behind two guests arguing over whether the bread contained nuts. The young server in black was trying to get between them with an empty tray.
“Excuse me,” Nina said.
The server turned toward her. At the same moment the host entered from the kitchen, patting his empty wrist.
“Who was in here?”
Nobody answered at first. It sounded like another joke.
“My watch. I left it in the kitchen.”
Nina said, “In the dish.”
He didn't hear her. He looked at the young woman with the tray.
“You've been clearing up?”
“Yes.”
“Did you move my watch?”
“No.”
“Well, it was there.”
The room was listening now, people abandoning their separate conversations one by one. The server shifted the tray against her hip.
“I haven't seen it.”
“I'll need to look in your bag.”
She stared at him. “My bag?”
“If it's not there, it's not a problem.”
Nina set her empty hand against the back of a chair. There was the door to the passage. If she stepped out now she could find the bearded man before he left. Adam was somewhere at the front of the house. She needed him not to know what she'd discovered until she had heard enough of it to keep him from making it smaller.
The young woman lowered the tray onto the table. Her ears were red.
“I didn't take it.”
“I'm not accusing you.”
“Then don't,” Nina said.
The host turned. “Excuse me?”
“You put it in the dish by the sink. I saw you.”
“I've looked.”
“Look again.”
Silence, brief and total. The man from Ansel stepped forward with an embarrassed laugh.
“Things get moved. Everyone's helping. Let's—”
“She said she didn't touch it,” Nina said.
The host looked at the server as if deciding whether to include her in a joke. She was no longer looking at him.
Nina went into the kitchen. The dish was beside the sink. There was a towel over it, pushed aside by someone carrying plates. She lifted the corner. The watch lay beneath it.
She carried it into the dining room and held it out.
“There.”
He took it. “Thank you. I said it was there.”
“You should tell her you're sorry.”
His face closed. Adam appeared in the doorway behind him.
“Nina.”
She looked at her husband. His eyes were on her, not the watch.
“She didn't take it,” she said.
“I can see that.”
The host put the watch on. “Very sorry. A misunderstanding.”
He said it to the room. The young woman picked up her tray and went through to the kitchen. Nina followed her.
For a second neither spoke. The server put her hands flat on the counter.
“You all right?” Nina asked.
“I'm working.”
“Yes. Sorry.”
The woman looked at her then, a quick appraising glance. “Thank you.”
Nina nodded and left her alone.
In the passage Adam caught up with her.
“We're going,” he said.
“I haven't finished.”
“Yes, you have.”
She tried to step around him. He didn't touch her, but his body filled the narrow way.
“The man with the beard,” she said. “Where is he?”
Adam looked toward the front door.
“You know who I mean.”
“Not here.”
“He was in the attestation. The complaint I closed.”
“Nina, please.”
The woman who'd taken her coat stood behind Adam, holding it now, sleeves folded together. Nina had not asked for it.
She took the coat. The woman didn't meet her eyes.
As they went through the hall, Nina saw the study door standing wide. One of the photographs had fallen flat. Behind it lay a page headed with the host's name, followed by short descriptions: neighbors, previous residence, the boat. Not a contract. Not a list of crimes. A man learning what his friends would say about him.
Adam followed her gaze and shut the door.
“Outside,” he said.
She went. She could feel him behind her all the way down the path, while the party started speaking again inside.