She was, I will admit, genuinely dazzling — the kind of woman a room reorganizes itself around.

And whenever she knew I was watching, she was flawless.

At dinner she called me Mrs.

Thornbury in a voice like warm honey.

She praised the foundation, and asked intelligent questions about it, and held my hand across the table and told me she wanted a real wedding, a small one even, because — she said, with her eyes shining — love mattered so much more than money to her.

She said all the right things.

She said them a little too well, the way a person does when they have studied for the test rather than lived the material.

I have sat across from a great many people who wanted something from me, and I have developed, over the years, a sense for the specific over-brightness of a performance.

Sabine had it.

Every gesture was a half-second too aimed.