Alexandra stepped into the humidity and weaved her way through crowds spilling out of office towers for lunch. The buildings in the centre of Lujiazui were connected with walkways that threaded between skyscrapers and shopping malls like silver ribbons.

She rode the outdoor escalator, making a beeline for the little garden tucked between a silver high-rise, a giant TV screen and the five-storey curved golden wave of the Gucci store. Zhang mentioned he would try to meet her at this park today between meetings and she hurried so as not to miss him.

There were only three other people in the park when she reached it: a gardener sweeping leaves with a willow broom, a second gardener squatting on a square of raised lawn and plucking weeds from the turf with a tiny fork, and a man meditating on yellow river stones. Beyond the overpass was the shimmering pink disco ball of the Pearl Tower. A rustic stone wall blocked the chaos of the city. Avenues of trees were softened with lush dark groundcover, burgundy shrubs were pruned into perfect spheres. Loose grasses rippled with the wind.

The contrasting textures and explosion of flowers made her think of Oma. She took her phone out of her tote bag and sent a message and photo to Oma.

My local lunch spot.

Sitting in this strange garden, she realised that she’d come to value cities for their gardens, not their commodities exchanges. Perhaps she was more like her grandmother than she’d realised.

Her phone pinged.

Glad you are enjoying the gardens. They tell me Suzhou gardens are very special. I never got the chance to visit. Perhaps you can.

Suzhou…Nearly ten years ago, some idiot at Oxford with too many lagers under his belt had ripped her pendant off her neck and she’d had to get the clasp repaired. The jeweller specialised in antiquities and he asked if he could keep the pendant for a few days. His verdict was that Alexandra’s pendant was hundreds of years old. Early Qing Dynasty. He thought it might have come from Suzhou.

She’d asked the jeweller about tracing its origin and he’d laughed. ‘People have been trading there for centuries. In a word: no chance, love.’ He must have sensed her disappointment. ‘If you’re ever in that part of the world, there’s some extraordinary gardens. Might be worth a look.’

That’s just what she was going to do.

Zhang stepped off the escalator and walked towards her, smiling. With his briefcase slung over his shoulder, he was carrying a baguette and an apple juice. Alexandra had mentioned to Zhang on their food tour that she came to this park for twenty minutes over lunch. It was one he’d designed, so he’d arranged to meet her here today.

‘Hello,’ He looked around the park. Do you like it?’ he asked as he sat on a grassy mound beside Alexandra.

‘Love it,’ she responded as she broke off the end of his baguette and stuffed it into her mouth. As Alexandra chewed, she felt embarrassed, as if the breaking of someone else’s baguette was an act of great intimacy.

‘I don’t get it, though. The park feels so contemporary, so simple and plain. But relaxing. Or at least I feel chilled when I’m here.’ She broke off another piece of bread and studied the billowing grasses with seed heads that floated like clouds.

‘Exactly what I had in mind,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘I figured everyone’s so busy over here in the financial zone, always thinking about the next deal. Where’s the money coming from, and where’s it going? How much did we make?’

Alexandra felt her ears burn at hearing her commodities deals described in such simple terms.

Zhang must have noticed, because he leaned forwards and gently put a hand around her wrist. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be glib about your job. It’s not—that’s not what I meant.’ He cocked his head to the side. He was frowning slightly with concern, and his dark eyes were apologetic.

Alexandra forced a smile and raised her eyebrows as she felt electricity run up her arm. It was unexpected, but comforting. His grip was strong, but tender. She studied his hand where it touched her skin; it was narrow and elegant, the nails manicured. The hands of a designer, or an artist, not the broad stumpy hands of a gardener like her grandmother.

Zhang caught her studying his hand and let go. ‘Sorry. I—I think you’re amazing.’ He laughed and it felt like paper cranes lifting to the sky.

‘So enough about my brilliant career,’ Alexandra said. ‘Tell me about this garden. Actually, now that I think about it, it does feel a bit like the one in my courtyard.’

‘Exactly. Are you religious?’

‘I’m not. But my grandparents are Jewish. I mean, my grandfather was,’ she corrected herself. ‘But Oma is pretty much non-observant. Why? You’re hitting all the big subjects today.’

‘Oh well, why not? We’ve known each other, what, five weeks? Shared noodles.’

A shiver ran up Alexandra’s back as she started to consider what else she might share with this kind man. He was so earnest, so free, compared to Hugo.

But it was way too soon. And she didn’t have the strength to share her heart with anyone right now. Kate would tell her just to have a bit of fun and enjoy herself before he went back to Hong Kong for good. But she was too risk-averse to start something that she knew was doomed.

‘It doesn’t matter to me one way or another,’ Zhang said. ‘I’m not particularly religious. But there is something in Chinese philosophy I like to include in all my gardens. You can trace the lines in every garden in China, if you look closely enough. It’s not religion, exactly, but it’s definitely spiritual.’

Alexandra’s head shot up. She’d never heard a man talk about spirituality before. Or gardens. Especially over a baguette in a park.

‘Speaking of gardens, I’m heading to Suzhou this weekend,’ Alexandra told him. ‘I want to see some of the gardens. My grandmother loves gardening. She has a kind of Chinese garden at home. But she never got the chance to visit Suzhou.’

‘Shanghai was cut off from Suzhou by the Japanese during the war,’ Zhang explained. ‘But the gardens were preserved and I love a good excuse to visit…’ He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to invite myself. I just thought I might be able to help.’

‘No, that would be good,’ Alexandra said, feeling a bit breathless. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying, ‘It’s a date.’