“When I found out, I was angry. I felt duped. Nina hadn’t been as into me as I was her—we all know that. But she came back from Ibiza different. More grown up. More sure of what she wanted. And I allowed myself to believe that it was because she’d missed me, decided that I was who she wanted. Except that it wasn’t the case at all. She’d been horrified by what happened, craved stability and a shot at normal life.”

“Did she tell you exactly how it happened?”

“I believe so.”

“What did she tell you?”

“I thought you’d read her diaries? I’d like to see them, too, when we get home, please.”

“I don’t want the diary version, I’d like yours.”

“Charlie and Camilla had an argument. Camilla reacted badly, so Charlie attacked them and fell overboard in the process. A terrible tragedy. Just awful. Poor guy.”

“So you knew, all along, why Camilla came back?”

“Yes.”

I revisit all my paranoia, all the secret little chats. The time he suggested to Camilla that they go boating, which seemed so out of context at the time. Oh my God, he was testing her. It seems...cruel and taunting. I remember his interest when I first mentioned Camilla’s surprise return. It seems that we weren’t having a normal conversation as I’d thought at the time; he was also fishing for information.

“No good, Marie, can come from speaking out. Camilla and I have come to an understanding. We think it’s best if she leaves the area at some point. You and I, we can move on from this. I’m glad that you know. It’s been a weight on my mind.”

I can’t see Camilla moving away. Especially not now that she knows I know. She’ll want to keep an even closer eye on me.

“But you lied. The night I told you that I was pregnant, you said that you’d gone over to accuse her of being the mystery-note sender!”

“What was I supposed to say? I panicked, I was afraid that once Camilla knew about us that she’d crack, fear that I was going to tell you. Don’t you get it—the more people who know, the more dangerous it is.”

I truly don’t know what to do, but the weight that Stuart talked about is now sitting heavy with me. I don’t know what to believe.

“Promise me?” he says.

I nod, knowing that by doing so, I’m implicating myself ever more deeply in this tragedy now, too. Right now, I don’t feel as if I have a choice. I’m buying time to give myself space to think.

On our walk home with flashlights, I ask something else that’s been playing on my mind. “Do you know who is behind the notes and flowers?”

“No, I don’t.”

I search his face for clues that he’s lying, but his expression and demeanor give nothing away. But then, it hasn’t before, has it?

Back at home, as I’m removing my makeup in front of the bathroom mirror, Stuart comes up behind me.