She went striding off.

Patrick sat down heavily on the bench opposite Ellen, picked up the champagne glass and drained it.

Saskia stopped and called back. “I’ll see you on Friday for our appointment, Ellen!” She slapped her thigh. “The leg is doing pretty well!” She waved.

Ellen’s hand automatically went up and she waved back.

“You know her?” said Patrick. A panicky expression flew across his face. “Have you always known her? Is this like some sort of weird setup between the two of you?”

“No, no, no!” Ellen rushed to explain. “I knew her as Deborah. That’s what she called herself. Deborah Vandenberg. She’s been coming to see me about her leg pain.”

“Deborah,” repeated Patrick, and his eyes brightened with suspicion. “But you knew it was Saskia. Just then! You knew it was her.”

“I worked it out on the plane,” said Ellen. “When you told me about her bad leg. But I didn’t want to upset you by mentioning it. It’s my fault she’s here. I told her we were coming to Noosa … when I thought she was Deborah. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

She felt as though she had actually been part of a wicked conspiracy with Saskia.

Patrick lifted the lid of the jewelry box, then snapped it shut. He laughed disbelievingly, to himself. “I was sure I was safe. I thought I’d be able to propose without her watching, but I couldn’t even do that.”

“May I see the ring?” asked Ellen.

“It’s an antique,” said Patrick. “It’s got a history. Someone else’s history, I mean. It’s not like it’s from my own family, but I thought you’d like that.” He opened the box and flipped it shut again without looking at it. “I didn’t think you were the type for one of those standard shiny diamond rings. Jack helped me choose it.”

He was talking sadly and nostalgically, as if about something that had happened a long time in the past.

“It sounds perfect,” said Ellen. “So, could I … ?”

He pushed the ring across the table to her and she opened the box.

“Oh, Patrick.” The ring was white gold with a small oval aquamarine stone the color of the ocean. “It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what I would have chosen for myself.”

Ellen had never been especially interested in jewelry. She was not one of those women who could speak authoritatively about carats or cuts. “Ooh, sparkly!” she would say when newly engaged friends drooped their left hands at her. To her, their rings all looked identical.

But the absolute rightness of Patrick’s choice made her want to cry. It was like tangible evidence that he really saw her. It was a ring she could never have envisaged, or described, but one that said “Didn’t you know? This is who you are.”

Ellen regretfully closed the lid, unsure what to do next; she hadn’t actually said yes to his proposal yet. For the first time since she’d heard about Saskia’s existence, she felt a satisfying, righteous flash of rage. That moment had been hers. Right now she was meant to be doing that half-sobbing, half-laughing thing that women did, burying her head in Patrick’s chest, stopping every now and then to hold up her hand and examine her ring. It was meant to be a memory to cherish, and now it was gone forever.

“It was probably too soon to ask you,” said Patrick. “But it just felt so right and I thought, to hell with it, I know she’s the one, so I—”

He stopped and blinked slowly, like one of her clients coming out of a trance.

“Did you say you were pregnant?”

So he’s going to be the hypnotist’s husband.

He was doing the whole movie-scene deal. The pink-sky sunset. The champagne. The bended knee.

I thought: They’re actually going to live that life. See, it really does happen to some people. They’re going to have a beautiful, elegant wedding, probably on the beach, and it won’t rain, but if it does it will be funny; the men will hold up big umbrellas and the women will giggle and run in their high heels. She’ll only have one glass of champagne because she’s pregnant. And then the baby will be born, and everyone will gather in the hospital room, with flowers and jokes and cameras. Then they’ll have another baby, the opposite sex of the first one. They’ll have dinner parties with friends and such busy weekends, and they’ll brush away sentimental tears at their children’s concerts, and when the kids are older they’ll travel and take up hobbies and eventually move into a friendly retirement village, and when they die their children and grandchildren will gather around and mourn them.

Who would mourn me if I died today? My colleagues? I think they’d get over it pretty fast and then they’d be fighting for my office. Friends? In the space of a few years I’ve got myself crossed off everyone’s Christmas card list. It was my fault. I couldn’t be bothered. I never returned their calls or answered their e-mails. I was too busy following Patrick. It’s quite a time-consuming hobby. My hairdresser seems fond of me, but who would tell her that I’d died? She’d just think I’d left her for another hairdresser. Which I would never do. Maybe I should leave a note. In the event of my death please let my hairdresser know.

There will be no grief or pain for the hypnotist and her husband, and if there is, it will always pass. They’ll support each other until they’re over it. The doctor will give them prescriptions to fix the pain.