Vivienne's POV
I arrived at nine forty seven.
The Harlow was between its morning rhythms at that hour, the breakfast crowd thinning and the lunch preparation not yet visible, that particular quiet that settled over good restaurants when the immediate demand had passed and the space could simply be itself for a while without performing for anyone. The lighting was the same warm gold it always was regardless of the hour. The dark wood held the same unhurried solidity. The smell of good food drifted from the kitchen in the easy unannounced way of a place that cooked because it believed in cooking rather than because it was trying to impress anyone with the fact that it did.
The host recognised me now. He nodded and reached for a menu and said your usual table without making it a question.
