“Stop that!” said Madeline. “You always do that!”

Celeste had a talent for the silent, unobtrusive tidy-up. Any time Madeline had Celeste over, her kitchen would be left pristine, bench tops gleaming.

“Sit down and have a cup of tea with me before you go,” she told Celeste. “Look, I’ve got some of Jane’s latest lot of muffins. I was too selfish to share them with the book club.”

Celeste’s eyes brightened. She went to sit down, but then she awkwardly half stood and said, “Where’s Ed? He might want the house back to himself.”

“What? Don’t worry about Ed. He’s still snoring away in Chloe’s bed,” said Madeline. “Anyway, who cares? It’s my house too.”

Celeste smiled weakly and sat down. “It’s awful about poor Jane,” she said as Madeline put one of Jane’s muffins in front of her.

“At least we know that nobody here tonight will be signing that stupid petition,” said Madeline. “When everyone was talking I just kept thinking about what Jane went through. She told you the story about Ziggy’s father, didn’t she?”

It was a formality; Jane had told her that she’d told Celeste as well. She wondered for a guilty moment if it was gossipy to mention it, but it was OK, because it was Celeste. Her appetite for gossip was healthy; she wasn’t one of those mothers always ravenously searching it out.

“Yes,” said Celeste. She bit into the muffin. “Creep.”

“I Googled him,” confessed Madeline. This was really why she’d brought it up. She felt guilty about it and she wanted the release of confession. Or she wanted to burden Celeste with the same knowledge, which was probably worse.

“Who?” said Celeste.

“The father. Ziggy’s father. I know I shouldn’t have.”

“But how?” Celeste frowned. “Did she tell you his name? I don’t think she even mentioned it to me.”

“She said his name was Saxon Banks,” said Madeline. “You know, like Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins. Jane said he sang a Mary Poppins song to her. That’s why his name stuck in my head. Are you OK? Did it go down the wrong way?”

Celeste banged her chest with her fist and coughed. Her color was high.

“I’ll get you some water,” said Madeline.

“Did you say Saxon Banks?” asked Celeste hoarsely. She cleared her throat and said it again, slower. “Saxon Banks?”

“Yes,” said Madeline. “Why?” Understanding hit her. “Oh my God. You don’t know him, do you?”

“Perry has a cousin called Saxon Banks,” said Celeste. “He’s a . . .” She paused. Her eyes widened. “A property developer. Jane said that man was a property developer.”

“It’s an unusual name,” said Madeline. She was trying not to sound breathlessly thrilled by this horrible coincidence. Of course, it was not exciting that Perry was related to Saxon Banks. This was not an “it’s such a small world!” coincidence. This was awful. But there was an irresistible breathless pleasure in it and, like the awful petition, it was a welcome distraction from her increasingly embittered, almost crazed feelings about Abigail.

“He has three daughters,” said Celeste. She looked off into the distance as she collected her thoughts.

“I know,” said Madeline guiltily. “Ziggy’s half sisters.” She went to get her iPad from the kitchen bench and brought it back to the table.

“And he’s devoted to his wife,” said Celeste as Madeline pulled up the page again. “He’s lovely! Warm, funny. I can’t even imagine him being unfaithful. Let alone being so . . . cruel.”

Madeline pushed the iPad over to Celeste. “Is that him?”

Celeste looked at the picture. “Yes.” She put a thumb and finger on the screen and enlarged the picture. “I’m probably just imagining it, but I think I can see a resemblance to Ziggy.”

“Around the eyes?” said Madeline. “I know. I thought so too.”

There was silence. Celeste stared at the iPad screen. Her fingers drummed on the table. “I like him!” She looked up at Madeline. There was an expression of shame on her face, as though she were feeling somehow responsible. “I’ve always really liked him.”

“Jane did say he was charming,” said Madeline.

“Yes, but . . .” Celeste sat back and pushed the iPad away from her. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, do I have a responsibility now? To, I don’t know, to do something about this? It’s so . . . tricky. If he’d actually raped her, I’d want him charged, but—”

“He sort of raped her,” said Madeline. “It was like a rape. Or an assault. I don’t know. It was something.”

“Yes but—”

“I know,” said Madeline. “I know. You can’t send someone to jail for being vile.”

“We don’t know for sure,” said Celeste after a moment, her eyes on the photo. “She might have misheard his name, or—”

“There might be another Saxon Banks,” said Madeline. “Who doesn’t show up on Google. Not everyone shows up on the Internet.”

“Exactly,” said Celeste with too much enthusiasm. They both knew it was probably him. He ticked all the boxes. What were the chances of there being two men of around the same age named Saxon Banks in property development?