“So, remind me again. Do we know if this meeting with the Ternans really took place?” Al has actually picked the paper up off the porch and spread it out on the dining room table to give himself more space to read. The girls are upstairs, supposedly dressing for ballet.

“Ana. Goli. We have to leave in fifteen minutes,” I call to them before I answer. “Katey Dickens’ account says she came upon her mother crying and Catherine explained that Dickens had told her she had to pay a call on Mrs. Ternan. Katey told her not to, but she didn’t say whether her mother followed that advice. Some assume Catherine didn’t go; others think she did what she always did—”

“And obeyed her horrible husband.”

“Her magnetic and charming husband.”

“Well, she certainly dealt with Mme de la Rue. You make her sound wily.”

“Everyone always describes Catherine as a doormat, fat and tired and depressed after all those babies, and always compliant. But she must have found some ways to resist him, just occasionally to have her own way.”

His cellphone, sitting on the table beside him, rings. He picks it up.

“Hello…Sure…Yeah, okay. Four then.”

He seems in a hurry to get off the phone.

“Who was that?”

“Just David.”

“What did he want?”

“We’re scheduling a squash game for this afternoon.”

“But they’re coming over tonight. I’m doing something special for Becky’s birthday.” Since I had been feeling better, we had actually managed to reinstate our family parties and that night was our turn. For months, Becky had helped with shopping, cooking and babysitting; I wanted to surprise her with a cake, make her the centre of attention for a change.

“Yeah. I guess I had forgotten that. Well, that doesn’t stop us from playing squash.”

“But if your game is at four, they’re supposed to come over at five. We’re starting early.”

“Okay, well, maybe David and I will be a bit late.”

“Was that really David on the phone?”

There’s a pause as Al digests what I’m asking.

“I’ve told you it’s over.”

“Actually, I think you just said it doesn’t matter. And I shouldn’t worry.”

“It doesn’t matter because it’s over.”

“Okay.” I wait a bit. “Where is she?”

“She’s transferred out of the department. I think she has a new boyfriend somewhere.”

“So, what happened? Who broke it off in the end?”

“Nothing happened. It was kind of mutual. This just took priority.” He gestured around the dining room and kitchen beyond it. “I guess my way of looking at it changed.”

“How so?”

“I realized…Clearly, it wasn’t fair to make her wait…”

“Just on the off chance I might die?” I ask with a smile.

“No. Until you were better, obviously. But it didn’t feel…I mean, she’s young. I guess what was going on here made me more aware of the age difference between us.”

“She doesn’t understand cancer?”

“Well, she’s afraid of it. She was afraid of the situation. She was kind of panicky and that wasn’t particularly helpful.”

“What did she have to fear?”

“Getting blamed for breaking up a marriage, and somehow that would be much worse if you were sick. I don’t know, maybe she just couldn’t deal with the spectre of death or something. I mean, it’s real grown-up stuff we’ve been going through.”

“And why should she have to deal with it?” I agreed. “I think that’s the problem with May–December relationships. You’re out of sync on so many issues. When they start, he’s the wise, sexy older man, she is the sweet young thing. He’s forty-five to her twenty-five or whatever. She wants a glamorous adult life, career, family, the things the wife has. He wants youth, so they think they want each other. But they’re at cross-purposes. He wants to be young and she wants to be old, or at least older. She wants to stop living in a basement apartment. He wishes his knees didn’t creak whenever he bends down.”

“My knees don’t creak…”

“No, it’s your back you need to look out for. Anyway, I think a big age difference can come back to haunt a relationship later on.”

He smiles at me gently. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

I reach over and kiss him. “Trust me. She’d have got bored and wanted you to go clubbing Saturday nights.”

“I would have wound up in a retirement home supporting an aging trophy wife,” he replies. “Yeah. I suppose if they had lived today, Dickens would have just divorced Catherine and Nelly would have been a trophy wife. Much less drama all round.”

The cellphone rings again and Al picks it up.

“Yeah. Sharon just pointed that out too. Shall we try for three then?”