There was a storm of hissing and yowling in the background, and Caroline squeaked out a halfhearted reproach: “Come on you two, cut it out.” Jane could see her, pretty and puffy-eyed, sitting in their sunlit living room surrounded by stacks of books on some obscure, useless topic. Caroline had insisted they buy a modern house in Weston, a Gropius-style box that was ninety percent glass and looked out onto acres of conservation land. What an elegant, cheerful little refuge she’d made for herself, a perfect prison, cats and all, while Dale was off in the city carrying on like a middle-aged adolescent. She felt suddenly protective of Caroline, out there in her glass cage with the miserable cats taking swipes at her. Just Caroline with her degrees and her old-money family and, rumor had it, her barren womb. What a rotten deal for someone like that to be hitched to a cad like Dale. And worse still, what an absolutely wonderful deal for a cad like Dale, married to a trust-funded, well-bred woman who was too timid to make him suffer the consequences of his actions.

Chloe stuck her head into Jane’s office again and hooked a curtain of dark curls behind her ears. She’d been in the sun recently, and her skin had a wonderful glow, like polished copper; although she appeared to wear no makeup, her eyelids had a metallic shine that Jane found mesmerizing. She gestured toward her watch and then pointed up toward David’s floor, not impatiently, but with pity, as if she were warning Jane that she had ten minutes to save her career.

Jane covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “It’s been settled. I’m speaking to our guest right now.” Chloe’s shoulders dropped with genuine, generous relief. “Close the door, will you?”

There was a satisfying whoosh of air as Chloe sealed her into her office. She’d have to get off and make a round of frantic calls. If Rosemary didn’t come through, she’d try to get an air traffic controller they’d had on a couple of times, a bitter man who was full of horror-movie-quality statistics about catastrophes. “I wish there was something I could do for you, Caroline, but I’ve got so much going on now . . .”

“This is going to sound terrible, Jane, but I was hoping you might . . . talk with him.”

“Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Who else could I ask? It’s too humiliating to even discuss it with anyone else. I knew you’d understand, having been through this. I know we haven’t spent much time together recently, but somehow I’ve always felt close to you, almost as if you were extended family. Does that make any sense?”