“No. Which doesn’t mean I think we behaved entirely well, but . . . we behaved a bit well. As well as we could, given our goal. If we wanted our love to last forever—and we did, and it will—we had to do what we did, exactly as we did it. Nothing else would have worked. Everyone treats other people instrumentally in their quest for personal happiness, apart from maybe a few self-sacrificing old monks. But most people do.”

Simon put a five-pound note down on the table and stood up to leave. He was thirsty—tea always had that effect on him. “Thanks for telling me the truth,” he said to Paula.

“I make Fergus extremely happy,” she called after him.

As he walked through the Sofitel’s lobby, Simon imagined himself telling Hannah Blundy what he’d found out. Should he? It was the answer she’d been waiting for, but would it make her happier to know? Was happiness always the most important consideration? What good would it do her to find out the truth?

Outside the hotel, Simon blinked in the light and enjoyed the feeling of the fresh air in his lungs.

He knew it was useless. No matter how much he argued with himself, he would end up telling Hannah what he knew. The truth mattered. If he were in her shoes, he’d rather know.

Time to call Charlie, who would disagree with him and try to change his mind.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am profoundly grateful to the talented team at Hodder, as always, and to my ace agent Peter Straus. In America, the fantastic team at William Morrow have been equally brilliant, especially the uniquely awesome Dan Mallory, whose inspiring friendship and endless enthusiasm for discussing books and human beings with me has added a new dimension to my life.

Huge thanks to Emily Winslow, who read an early draft of the novel and made incredibly helpful suggestions for improvement, and to Dominic Gregory and Rosanna Keefe, for the Clark Kent/Superman discussion. Thanks to Chris Gribble for “The Cartographer’s Biographer,” which simply had to be included, and to Dan, Phoebe, and Guy Jones for putting up with another year of my distracted dishevelment. Thanks to everyone who entered into the “Why is sports doping worse than stoned writers?” debate with me: Morgan White and Mic Wright spring immediately to mind. Special thanks to my husband, Dan, for drawing the issue to my attention in the first place, and for being always ready to think the unthinkable and say the unsayable.

I am very grateful to Naomi Alderman, whose use of the phrase “telling error” in a tweeted conversation gave me a title that I love (in the UK, at any rate!).