“Move faster,” she would snap.

“I don’t pay you to stroll around my house.” Once, in front of several guests, she said something cruel about Anouk’s figure and her uniform, and the room tittered, and Anouk simply lowered her eyes and said nothing.

That evening, for the first time, I felt ashamed of my own wife — and ashamed of myself, for laughing along at the small cruelties for a year because laughing was easier than looking.

I have thought a great deal since about why Dulce hated Anouk, and I believe it was because Anouk saw her clearly.

The other people in Dulce’s orbit — her friends, the guests, and God knows I myself for far too long — saw the performance: the elegant, charming, devoted hostess.

But the help sees everything.