Chapter 22: The Man at the Venue

The day before the wedding I stood on the hotel terrace with the manager and counted the steps.

There were four from the doors down to the lawn.

I put my heel on the third and leaned my weight on it.

It did not move.

"New stone, ma'am," the manager said. "Set in March. We replaced the whole run."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Rathbone paid for it himself, I believe."

"He paid for it a long time ago," I said, and he looked puzzled, and I let him.

Two hundred chairs stood in rows on the lawn, white and bare.

A florist's team was threading blue delphiniums along the rail.

The glass doors behind me opened, and I knew the footsteps before I turned.

Leland stood on the terrace in a plain brown coat with his hands in the pockets.

He had lost weight.

He looked like a man who ate standing up.

"I'm not here for tomorrow," he said at once. "I know I'm not invited."

"You're not."

"I'll be quick. Ten minutes, and I'll go."

The manager glanced at me, and I nodded, and he took the florist's team inside.

Leland did not come closer.

"Hugh got six years," he said. "I gave evidence on Monday.

"The judge said my cooperation was noted, and that it didn't excuse what I'd done."

"It shouldn't."

"No."

"How is your work?"

"I teach a night course in bookkeeping. Eight students." He almost smiled.

"They don't know who I am, and I've learned a great deal about receipts."

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