"You don't have to worry about a random man appearing from nowhere and disrupting things. She has made sure of that."
Julian sat with this. She could see him doing it, processing, adjusting, the way you adjust when the ground has shifted, and you are working out whether the new position is solid enough to stand on.
"The man doesn't even need her money," Amara added, almost as a footnote. "He has more than enough of his own."
Julian frowned. "What does he do?"
Amara picked up the postcard from the table. She turned it over in her hands once, twice, looking at the front of it again, that sun-bright somewhere, all that light and warmth and motion. She thought of her mother-in-law writing this card, wherever she had written it, the day after her wedding, in the particular happiness of a woman who has surprised herself with the size of what she is still capable of feeling.
"He is in a film," Amara said.
