Chapter 12: Sunday Brunch

Linwood Hallowell served the engagement brunch in the glass conservatory, under a dripping canopy of lemon trees.

There were thirty guests at one long table, the minister, the banker, the sheriff, and the wives of men who owed the Trust.

White cloth, silver, a tower of oysters on ice.

I wore the navy dress and sat at Rainer's right hand.

Tiernan had been put at the foot, as far from me as the table allowed.

He hadn't looked at me since the vault.

I had a slip of cream paper folded in my bra, and I smiled until my face ached.

"My friends," Linwood said, rising with a glass of champagne. "It is a happy day for this harbor."

"After a hundred years of Hallowells and Pascoes, we are to be joined."

"My son Rainer has asked Miss Pascoe for her hand, and Miss Pascoe has consented."

A murmur, a few uncertain claps.

Rainer's steel eyes found mine across an inch of air.

It was the question he had asked in the vault.

I stood up.

"I consent to the announcement," I said, clearly.

"I haven't signed anything, and I answer on the twentieth. But I'll stand here and let it be said."

Linwood's mouth curved, delighted.

"Then raise your glasses to the happy couple."

"No."

Chair legs scraped at the foot of the table.

Tiernan was on his feet.

Every head turned.

He was white-faced and braced.

"Tiernan," Linwood said. "Sit."

"I've known her name since September."

The room went still.

"Her whole name," he said. "Henley Pascoe."

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