The idea that part of my adulthood might have been different if I had known made me angry in a way I could not easily put into words.

The same afternoon, Whitney appeared at the farmhouse gate.

Richard met her outside.

She wore a cream coat and held a small wrapped gift.

From the sitting-room window I watched her gesture sharply toward the house.

Richard shook his head once.

He came in and asked whether I wanted to speak to her.

I surprised us both by saying yes, but only in the front room, with Beatrice present.