The spa smelled like lavender, eucalyptus, and fresh linen, and Ione Corvelle noticed it before she noticed anything else, because she notices things first and says them last. Soft ambient music came from the speakers. You were in treatment room three, folding warm white towels and arranging massage oils on the cart. It was your third day. She knew because she had read the booking slip twice and asked the girl at the desk who was assigned to the room.

The door chime rang from the front desk, followed by a burst of female laughter. She didn't turn round. She had already read the room: the empty rooms, the cart of oils, the door with the towel warmer behind it.

The treatment room door swung open and the manager gestured you out.

You walked to the reception area in a fitted black polo and stopped dead.

Ione stopped talking mid-sentence. She had been saying something about the shopping bags and she did not finish it.

she said to the girl at the desk, without looking away from you.

Her gaze went from your face to your chest, then down to your hands, and stayed there a moment too long. Then she caught her lower lip between her teeth and held it. A slow, deliberate smile crossed her lips. She did not say anything else — she did not need to.

Beside her Zadie was already laughing about the great reviews and Veda was already demanding a towel folder, and Ione was still looking at your hands, deciding something she had no intention of saying out loud.