I peered at my hostess over the rim of my teacup. Could I trust her enough to tell her Brian's secrets? She looked harmless, but that rarely tells the whole story. I sized her up as well as I could, knowing that my own perceptions had failed me in the past.

Marie was about twenty-eight years of age, slightly older than I, but more stable, in a way. She lived with her husband of five years in his aging family home. He was a much older man, older even than my father.

Matthew Searle was awesome, but bleak, if you know what I mean. He was neither handsome or attractive, but had a stature that commanded respect. I was glad I was not married to him.

My own husband, Brian, was much younger at thirty years of age. Of course we also had less money, less stability, and no home of our own. Rather we had been living in a rented flat, until quite recently.

Could I trust Marie with Brian's secrets? I hoped so, because I desperately needed to talk.