The Winter Map

Tressa spread the map across the breakfast table and watched Elian become polite.

It was only a slight alteration. He put down his mug, leaned forward and asked sensible questions about ferry times. She had seen customers do the same thing in the shop when they disliked the expensive frame she had suggested and did not want to offend her. She had been paid to recognise it then. Here she would have preferred not to.

“You don’t want to go,” she said.

“I haven’t said that.”

“You asked whether the ferry ran every day in the voice people use for a blocked drain.”

He sat back. “I was asking about the ferry.”

“And?”

He looked at the route she had traced in pencil. “Three weeks is a long time.”

“It doesn’t have to be three.”

“You want three.”

She began to fold one edge of the map, then stopped. She…