Chapter 19: The Last Sunday Dinner

I arrived at six exactly, and the housekeeper opened the door and did not look me in the eye.

The dining room seated twelve. Tonight it held nine.

Five directors sat along one side with their wine untouched.

Colin sat at the foot, with his hands in his lap and no glass at all.

A man with a camera stood by the sideboard.

Lorna sat at the head in black silk with her pearls on.

The place cards were back. Mine said Genevieve, and it sat at Colin's right hand.

It was the chair Iris had taken in March.

Iris sat across from it, pale and upright.

"I did not invite you," Lorna said.

"Iris did."

"Iris is not well."

"I'm very well," said Iris, so quietly that two of the directors leaned in.

I sat down in my old chair and laid my hands flat on the tablecloth.

Lorna waited until the housekeeper had set down the soup and gone out.

"Directors, thank you for coming. This is the last Sunday dinner at this table."

She took a single sheet from beside her plate.

"I have asked my daughter-in-law to make a statement for the record."

She slid the paper and a gold pen across the cloth to Iris.

"Sign it, Iris. It's short."

Iris looked at the page.

Then she did something I had last seen in a lawyer's office on the thirty-first floor.

"I'd like to read it first," she said.

Lorna's face went still.

"There's no need, dear."

"I'd like to anyway."

She picked up the page with both hands, and her lips moved.

Nobody at the table spoke, and the camera stayed lowered.

I watched Iris read the statement slowly, to the bottom.

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