I hoped desperately that Frances did know how it was, because I couldn’t bear to lie any more. There would be too much falsehood to fit into my brain. She just nodded. I don’t think she wanted to find out too much about my life.

I really was organizing the company’s papers. I wasn’t lying about that. But at the same time I was also jotting down every reference to where Milena had been on a particular day. If I compared it to the chart I had constructed for Greg, perhaps I could find somewhere they had been together, or nearly been, or a route that had crossed. It didn’t have to be a night in a hotel, it could be a train, a petrol station. Indeed, as I worked I decided I would stop off at the stationer’s on the way home for more card and colored pens and that I would make a separate chart for Milena.

I worked with such concentration that when I heard Frances say my name it was as if I had fallen asleep and woken up to find the world dark.

She wasn’t alone. A man was standing with her, tall, distinguished, rich. He made me feel disheveled and a little ill-at-ease. He must have been in his mid-fifties, with short dark-gray hair, silvering at the edges. He was wearing an overcoat with a navy blue scarf.

“This is Gwen, my good fairy,” said Frances, and once again I had to stop myself looking around to see where Gwen was. “This is my husband, David.” He gave me a slightly wry smile and held out his hand. It was beautifully manicured but, then, everything about him looked beautifully manicured, his hair, his black leather slip-ons. His handshake was dry and limp.

“David, you’ve got to persuade Gwen to stay.”

He regarded her coldly, then gave a small shrug. “Don’t you see how much you’re valued?” he said, in a voice that managed to combine sarcasm with indifference.

“It’s just a holiday for me,” I said.

“Funny sort of holiday,” he said.

“She’s a math teacher,” said Frances.

“Oh,” said David, as if that explained everything.

“Time to go,” said Frances. “But wait a second.” She went to her desk and scribbled on something. Then she came back and handed me a check.

“I can’t take this,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I really can’t take it.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. “You mean the tax? David, could you give me your wallet, darling?”