Vivienne's POV
He called at half past five on a Tuesday.
"You left your scarf," he said. "At The Harlow. Last Thursday."
I looked across my apartment at the armchair by the window where my scarves lived when they were not in use. There were three of them draped across it with the casual permanence of things that had found their place and stayed there.
None of them were missing.
"Did I," I said.
"Blue one. Soft material." A pause. "It's been in the lost and found for five days. I wanted to make sure it got back to you."
I looked at the armchair.
I had not worn a blue scarf to The Harlow at any point in the past month. What I had worn last Thursday was a grey coat and a very specific expression of someone trying to appear less interested in the person serving her water than she actua
