Chapter 12: That Is Bradford's Hair

Sunday lunch at Auchincloss House has been served at one o'clock for a hundred and forty years.

On Wednesday I told my mother about Dean's call, and she did not ask where I had slept.

She only said, "Then we'll have everyone to Sunday lunch."

By one the table was set for six.

My mother sat at the head in a gray dress, with the white streak at her temple pinned back.

Bradford took the chair on her right and opened his napkin with a flourish.

"A family lunch," he said. "Good. This is what we need."

Derrick stood by the sideboard.

Dean sat on my left with his hands flat on the cloth, unshaven, in the same suit he had worn on Monday.

I had called him back that morning, and I had said one thing.

Come to Newport. Say it out loud to her face.

He had come.

At five past one the maid brought Heidi in.

She wore a pale blue dress and carried the baby in a white knit cap, and she stopped in the doorway when she saw the table.

"Mrs. Ames," she said softly. "Thank you for having us."

"Sit, Heidi," my mother said. "Bradford, would you pour?"

Bradford poured her a glass of water with his own hand.

Heidi took the seat across from Dean and did not look at him.

The soup came and nobody touched it.

"Well," Bradford said. He smiled around the table. "Shall we say grace?"

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