Theo woke on Sunday to the sound of Mara opening the kitchenette cupboard too carefully.
She opened it slowly when she didn't want to wake him, which made the hinge creak for longer. He lay on the daybed and listened to the whole considerate noise. Then he sat up.
“I'm awake,” he said.
She appeared in the doorway, hair loose, one hand holding a cup.
“You weren't.”
“An inevitable development.”
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
She went back to the machine. Theo put his feet on the floor and remained there, elbows on his knees. The daybed had been comfortable enough. His back ached from dancing rather than sleeping, and his voice had not entirely recovered its normal range. He tried a small cough. Mara called that no further performance was required.
He smiled. Then he saw the holdall open beneath the chair, and the morning moved forward without waiting for him.
On the terrace the air was still cool enough to enjoy before the heat returned. Mara set down the cups and sat opposite him. She had found bread and the last of the fruit, put them on separate plates so the blue fish dish could be packed.
The dish stood wrapped in a towel on the kitchen counter. Theo could see one painted eye above the fold, watching them fail to get on with departure.
“I've left that for you,” Mara said, pointing to the better part of the bread.
“Suspicious.”
“Generous.”
He took it. Neither reached for the fruit immediately.
The terrace beyond their wall remained almost empty. Somebody walked past with a bag and a tired child, speaking softly. A bird landed briefly on the stone, decided there was nothing here worth having and went. Theo watched it disappear above the roof.
“The room's ours tonight,” he said.
Mara looked at him.
“I know.”
“Nobody needs us out.”
“No.”
He wasn't asking again. He wanted the morning to contain the fact, the choice they were still making while the coffee remained hot and the bedroom door stood open behind her.
“I'll tell Elena we're leaving anyway,” he said.
Mara nodded. She picked up a piece of fruit and held it for a moment before eating.
Theo drank his coffee. It tasted exactly as it had all week. He wanted another one, and he wanted to finish packing because their transfer would come at the time they'd arranged.
“How many teaspoons do we own?” he asked.
Mara's hand stopped on the plate.
He had used the escape code without choosing it, the habitual route out of a conversation neither wanted to keep having. She looked toward the kitchenette. Then she looked back at him, and for a moment he could see that she'd heard the ordinary question instead.
They didn't own them together anymore. The teaspoons were in her drawer in Bristol, apart from the few he'd taken to the rental because buying a set seemed unnecessary when they had plenty.
“Sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. “Don't.”
He set down the cup. The joke had never required an answer. He'd made it into one by saying it here.
Mara looked at the table, the separate plates, the two cups which belonged to a place they were both leaving. Then she picked up the little spoon she'd used to stir her coffee.
“This one has no idea,” she said.
Theo looked at it.
“A fortunate spoon.”
She smiled, small and tired. He did too. It wasn't the laugh they'd had in the dance lesson. He didn't try to make it that again.
They ate the fruit. Mara gave him the last piece because she no longer wanted it; he knew that from the way she offered rather than insisted. He accepted because he did.
Inside, packing made enough work to occupy their hands. Theo folded shirts, putting the blue one from last night on top even though it needed washing. The hat was less manageable. He tried laying it flat and saw the brim object.
“You could wear it,” Mara said from the bedroom.
“A choice with consequences.”
“You've already been photographed in it.”
“Private evidence.”
“Several witnesses.”
He put the hat on. Mara came to the doorway carrying the party dress carefully folded over one arm. She looked at him and laughed properly this time.
“No,” she said.
“I've been advised.”
“I withdraw the advice.”
He took it off, pushed a T-shirt inside to preserve what shape remained and fitted it at the top of the bag. When he searched the pocket of his shorts, he found the faded yellow golf ball.
Mara watched him hold it up.
“Brian's?”
“An associate.”
“You've stolen from a frog.”
“By accident.”
She nodded gravely. “Tell them that first.”
He put it beside his phone to take to reception. The sewing kit lay beneath it, empty of the pins his mother had finally needed. He packed that too. It had earned its journey.
Mara wrapped the dish in the towel, then unwound it to add a shirt around the corners. Theo waited while she worked, watching her hands fold fabric around the painted fish.
“Too much?” she asked.
“I'd rather it survived.”
She added another shirt.
There were things she couldn't fit without flattening. The dress went into the case before the dish; shoes surrounded it; the scarf from the market filled a narrow gap. Theo offered to carry something in his bag. She looked at the things left on the bed and chose the shower gel, laughing because the bottle had leaked a little around the lid.
“Expensive optimism,” he said.
“Put it in a bag.”
He did. They would have to return it later, some other visit, some contact neither had arranged.
They checked the villa separately and then together. Mara looked under the bed. Theo checked the sockets, finding a charger he had been about to claim he'd already packed. Her lipstick stood beside the mirror. He took it to her, and she slipped it into the small bag she'd carried last night.
“Thank you.”
“All found?”
“I think so.”
She stood in the sitting room, looking at the chair where he had put his hat. There was nothing on it now. The room had regained the quiet appearance it wore when they arrived, except for a glass beside the daybed and a small stain on the terrace table which somebody would wipe away.
Theo lifted the holdall. Mara took her case. They went to the door, stopped because each expected the other to go first, then laughed briefly and managed it without another negotiation.
At reception Elena accepted the yellow ball with less surprise than Theo had prepared for. He explained that he'd found it in a pocket. She said she'd get it back to the course, and set it aside with the keys someone else had just returned.
“We're going today,” he told her. “Both of us. The original transfer.”
She nodded. “All right.”
“We won't use the extra night.”
“I understand.”
She made a note. He could have asked something about the payment, but he'd bought the possibility and it had been there. He thanked her instead, for the week, the party, the cake Mara was still likely to discuss in Bristol. Elena smiled at Mara, who said she'd been about to mention it again.
Outside, Kit waited with coffee in a paper cup. Freya stood beside him wearing sunglasses and the expression of a person who regretted acquiring morning. They were not traveling on Mara and Theo's transfer, but had got up to say goodbye.
Kit hugged Theo and called the party magnificent. Freya hugged Mara, then Theo, and warned them that the duet might never be forgotten.
“We'll accept individual apologies,” Theo said.
“You'll be offering them,” Freya replied.
They laughed. Mara looked toward the terrace, hidden from here by the lobby and the trees. Theo knew what she was trying to see. He wanted to see it too, the word still switched on, the tables full, her face turned toward him in the music.
The driver came to collect their bags. Theo lifted his own, then Mara's case, careful of the dish. She thanked him and opened the vehicle door.
When he sat beside her, the keys were no longer in his pocket. The room remained paid for behind them, empty for another night.
Mara put her hand over his for a moment. He turned his palm beneath hers and held it until the car had left the entrance.