I could feel the flush rising up my neck and covering my face. “There’s this guy. He’s called Johnny.”

“Who is he?”

“Kind of a chef.”

“And?”

“He was Milena’s lover—one of many.”

“How did he find out you weren’t me?”

“He tracked me down here after he’d heard about Frances. I probably should say that I missed something out. It’s not particularly relevant, but we had a kind of thing. I slept with him. Twice.”

“Oh.”

“What does that mean—oh?”

“All these secrets.”

I sloshed more whisky into her glass and my own. “It’s a great relief that you know,” I said, after a pause.

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment there was a loud knocking at the door. My head was swimming as I made my way down the hall and opened it.

Joe stood there, wrapped in his thick coat, a huge grin on his face, which was rosy with the cold.

“I’ve brought you a rowing machine,” he said. “I could hardly get it into the car.”

“Why?”

“I thought it would be good for you, keep you fit through these winter months. And I didn’t actually go out and buy it, a client gave it to me.”

I didn’t want a rowing-machine. And after our last encounter I didn’t much want to see Joe.

“And I wanted to say sorry for—you know—what happened. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Gwen’s here.”

He stepped past me and walked toward the kitchen, calling greetings to Gwen.

“Hi there, Joe,” she said.

“You’ve been drinking,” he said cheerfully.

“So would you have been in my position.”

“What position is that?” He took off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair.

GWEN MIGHT NOT have been angry, but Joe was. He was furious, shocked and hurt. His blue eyes blazed and his lips turned white. He banged his glass down on the table so that the whisky splashed everywhere and told me I’d been very, very stupid and why the fuck hadn’t I told him what I was doing? Didn’t I understand that he and Alison wanted to look after me? Greg had been like a son to him and I was like a daughter. “What the fuck were you up to?” he said. “What the fuck were you playing at?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t have to explain it to you.”

“You’re upset that your husband dies so what do you do? Weep and mourn? No. Get your life together? No. Talk things through with friends? No. See a counselor? No.”

“I have actually seen a—”