“Was he—” shagging is the word I almost say before filtering the thought, “having an affair with Elizabeth then?”

“No. I know there was some history, but Eleanor was okay with Elizabeth. The two of them had an understanding. I’m not entirely sure what it was, but they were comfortable with each other. Living so close may have helped. Each could see what the other was doing, and Elizabeth had her own marriage to protect. Besides, your mother knew that Elizabeth didn’t suffer fools lightly and would have no qualms telling Tom, even during a family event, when he was being a prick.” His eyes widen. “Sorry.”

His gallantry is sweet in an old-school way. “Don’t apologize. He was one sometimes.” Thinking of that, I wonder how far his prick-ness went. “Was he ever physically abusive to Mom?”

“Not to my knowledge. But he was demanding.”

This I knew. I had seen it for myself—demanding husband, demanding father—which brought me back to why we are talking now, Paul and me, about who was unfaithful and with whom.

I refocus. “So my father had affairs.”

“Yes.”

“Mom knew.”

“Yes.”

“Did she have more than one herself?”

Removing his foot from the wall, Paul straightens. “No. There was only ever one. It was meaningful.”

Something about his quiet intensity, the way his eyes hold mine, starts my heart thumping—and not because I’m about to learn what I’ve been waiting for ages to hear. I have a sudden horrendous thought that the answer won’t be at all what I thought.

“How do you know?” I whisper, afraid to breathe.

Willows are notoriously messy. This one has dropped silver-backed leaves along the sea wall. Paul picks one up and rubs its slender length with thumb and forefinger.

“Paul?”

His eyes return to mine. His mouth—that kind mouth—tips into a self-conscious smile. Despite the waves, the cry of a gull, even the distant drone of an airplane at this very minute, the silence is deafening.

I take a step back. But where to go that the truth won’t follow?

“You?” I whisper.

He huffs a laugh, both awkward and apologetic. “Not what you expected?”

“You were my father’s best friend. You were part of the family. It can’t be you.”

His smile is rueful. “Those things made me the perfect candidate. Your mother and I grew closer. And no one suspected.”

“But … behind his back?”

“We didn’t plan it, Mallory. It just happened. Things like that do.”

“It meant nothing?”

In a flash, he is earnest. “It meant everything. I had loved your mother for a very long time.”

“Did she love you?”

He considers his answer, picking his words with obvious care. “She did, though I think in a different way from me. I was a friend, not necessarily the love of her life.”