Chapter 21: The Gala

The Burlington Lakeside Hotel had put a red carpet down its front steps.

Photographers lined the rope. A man in a black coat stood at the door with a tablet.

I had on the dark green velvet. Roz wore the silver dress she kept for weddings. Declan wore the tux he'd bought for my last book launch.

In the car, he'd told me one thing.

"I went to Marsh Road yesterday," he said. "She said she'd come if I gave her a sign."

"What sign?"

"I don't know yet. I told her I'd let her know." He rubbed his face. "I didn't want to decide it for you."

"Thank you for telling me," I said, and meant it.

Now I took Declan's arm on my left and Roz's on my right.

The man with the tablet looked down at his list. "Mr. Quincy, plus one."

"Plus two," said Declan.

"I'm sorry, the list..."

"My mother's list," said Declan. "Call her."

The man swallowed. He glanced at the photographers, who had all stopped talking.

He stepped aside.

The ballroom was a blaze of chandeliers and white roses, three hundred people in black tie and silk.

They saw us come in.

The sound of the room dropped one table at a time.

I kept my chin up. Roz's arm trembled against mine, and I pressed it.

At the end of the room Philippa stood on the dais in a navy gown and pearls, with a champagne flute in her hand.

She saw me. For one instant her face did something I'd never seen it do.

Then she smiled.

"Friends," she said into the microphone, "we have a few more guests than expected."

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