No point in beating around the bush. “Yes. I’m sorry, Johnny. The thing is—and I should have said this before—I’m not ready for another relationship.”

“So that’s it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You think you can behave like that and get away with it?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’re all the same,” he said, standing up. Now he was even nearer the chart. I willed him to look my way and he did, resentment burning in his eyes.

“I’m not coming back to work,” I said. “It was all a mistake. So you won’t have to see me again.”

“I felt sorry for you. You seemed so sad.”

“Johnny . . .”

“I thought you liked me.”

“I do.”

“Women are so good at pretending. Like her. Milena.”

“I don’t think I’m like Milena in any way,” I said. “We’re opposites.”

“That’s what I thought, too, when I met you,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I liked you—you seemed calm and kind. But I was wrong. You’re both actresses. You take on roles.” I stared at him, panic flowing through my veins. “I’ve seen the way you are with Frances—Ms. Capable. You led her on and made her depend on you; she thinks you’re her friend. Milena could do that too, be all things to all people. Everything was a mask. You thought you’d got a glimpse of the real Milena and all of a sudden you understood it was just another mask. I’ve never forgotten one time when she was talking to a very nice Muslim man about Ramadan, which had begun that very evening, and he was explaining how he couldn’t eat after sunrise or before sunset. She was so sympathetic and intelligent about it that I thought I was seeing a new side to her. Then an hour or so later, when we were together at my flat, she went on this extraordinary rant against Islam and its believers. She was so witheringly contemptuous of the man she’d been so sweet to. It was like a window into her soul.”

“Johnny . . .”

“I said to myself then that I should kick her out, that she would only bring me grief. Of course I didn’t, though: she stayed all evening and all night and I made her eggs Benedict for brunch.” He laughed bitterly. “Never believe women. Especially when they’re being nice to you.”

“That’s not fair,” I began. But I didn’t have time to argue with him. Gwen was on her way, the real Gwen. “You should go,” I said.

“I haven’t finished my wine.”

“I really think you should go.”

“Let me cook that meal for you.”

“No.”

“You’re lonely and I’m lonely and at least we can give each other—”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t been fair. We can’t give each other anything.”