“You’re a cynical sod, aren’t you?” said Paula, smiling. She took another sip of tea. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to give you ten out of ten. You’re basically right, though not about the criteria we used to choose a husband for me and a wife for Damon.” She sighed. “Look, we knew what we were planning was grossly unfair to whichever man and woman we picked. Neither of us had any illusions about our moral rectitude. Damon hated hypocrisy more than anything and . . . well, I’ve come to hate it too. But we didn’t want to do any more harm than we needed to in order to protect our relationship. I knew our perfect love—and it was perfect—would only survive if we remained separated by circumstances. You can’t still be someone’s perfect woman once they’ve pulled strands of your hair out of the shower drain enough times! Even I can’t, and look at me.” She pointed at her face. “I’m the most beautiful woman I know, but so what? The second time I met Damon—our all-the-elevens date, when we stopped skirting around the issue and admitted we were soulmates—he told me he’d divorced his second wife for snoring. Between you, me and the gatepost, DC Waterhouse . . . I snore. You see what I’m saying?”

She leaned forward in her chair. “Damon was as madly in love with me on the day he died as he was on November 11, 2011.” Her eyes were shining again. “That’s only because I stood my ground and said no—no marriage, no living together, no sex till he was safely married to someone else. Even after that, when we had our trysts, I’d never agree to share a room with him overnight. You can’t risk it if you really care about making a good impression. Morning breath, stinky armpits . . .”

Stinky way of looking at the world, thought Simon.

“Judge me all you like,” said Paula, “but I bet you’ve never been in love with someone who’d divorce you for snoring. And before you conclude that Damon was a monster and I was his brainwashed victim . . . well, it actually worked both ways. Damon was a perfectionist, but I’m very easily hurt. I find it difficult to recover from any kind of wound. I told Damon; I was very upfront about it. I said, ‘If I’m ever hurt by you, we’re done for.’ When I first met Crummy—my ex-husband, Richard Crumlish—he promised me the earth and more. I thought he was wonderful; he thought I was a goddess. Everything seemed perfect. And then he hurt me in a relatively minor way and that was it for me. I pretended to forgive him, but secretly, from that moment, I was keeping my eyes peeled for someone new.”

“What was the hurt?” Simon asked.