at him.
“Can we talk?” he asked me.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I’m getting coffee.”
“I mean privately.”
Rachel began to look annoyed with me rather than him, as though a wife could still threaten the affair that had displaced her.
“No,” I repeated.
He leaned nearer. “Who was that guy?”
Rachel went rigid. “Good morning to you too.” I said.
“Come on.”
“You came downstairs with Rachel and asked me about another man.”
“I’m asking a simple question.”
“So am I.”
“What question?”
“Why is it your business?”
No answer came.
