“No,” I said shortly. And then I added, without realizing that I was going to, the words taking me by surprise, “I always wanted children,” and for one fearful moment my defenses were down and I was being me, Ellie, with a pain in her heart because she hadn’t been able to have children and now . . . I sat up straighter, snapped a folder shut. “Maybe one day,” I said—Gwen said—with brisk cheerfulness.

“I never wanted children,” said Frances. “It seemed so time-consuming, so wearing, trading your freedom for someone else’s well-being. I watched friends turn from fun-loving, carefree creatures to people who talked about nappy rash and started yawning at eight o’clock and thought, That’s not for me. And David agreed. I used to thank God I was born into a time when it was permissible to admit to possessing no maternal feelings. But then, just a few years ago, I suddenly thought how nice it would be to have someone to care for like that. Would have been, I should say. Too late now. Tick-tock,” she said, with a sad little laugh.

I didn’t get much information about Milena from the papers I went through on that first morning, just slapdash signatures on copies of letters about the cost of finger food and the hire of champagne flutes, although I wrote down every relevant date and place in my little notebook. I decided to go for a more direct approach.

“Tell me,” I said, as we sat drinking another of the mugs of coffee that punctuated the day, “this man Milena died with: who was he?” I ran my finger around the rim of the cup, trying to appear casual. Was my voice wobbling?

Frances shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him. I think he was married. Silvio said something about meeting his wife once. He seemed rather taken with her—but, then, Silvio’s an odd fish.”

My face felt hot. How would a normal person react? Should I ask who Silvio was? No. I was meant to know Milena. “You never met him?”

“I never even knew he existed.”

“Strange,” I said.

“Not in Milena’s world.”

“How d’you mean?” I put my mug down and shuffled papers, as if I wasn’t particularly interested in the answer.

“Milena’s private life was always a bit complicated. And mysterious.”

“You mean she was unfaithful.”

Frances’s face was flushed with either embarrassment or distress. “Basically, yes.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know. Didn’t her husband mind?”

Frances gave me an odd look. “I don’t know if he even knew. People see what they want to see, don’t they?”

“So she didn’t confide in you?”

“When she wanted to. I guessed she’d met someone new. She had the familiar radiance about her.” She gave a small, sour smile. “You probably think I’m being heartless, speaking ill of the dead.”