Charlotte, a wonderful cook, always provided magnificent teas. Faced with an array of little sandwiches, with toast and honey, with gingerbread and Danny’s iced cakes, Lindsay always vowed to show restraint—and never did. Guiltily aware that Tom had rarely if ever been provided with such a tea as this, and that his custom on returning home from school was to graze on chocolate bars or potato chips, reminding herself that each of Danny’s delicious little cakes contained five hundred calories at least, but feeling that she had to make up for Gini, who scarcely touched the food, Lindsay consumed an inordinate quantity. To please Danny, who was watching her with the solemnity of a three-star Michelin chef, she compounded her own felony by eating two of his cakes—the one made in her honor, with an “L” in silver balls on the top, and also the one with a “G,” destined for Gini, which Gini had quietly refused. Lindsay was peeved at her for this. It was then she noticed that of the cakes remaining, one was iced with the initial “D” for Daddy, and was clearly intended for Max, and the other bore the initial “R.” No one in this household had a name beginning with that letter.

“Who’s this one for, Danny?” Lindsay asked.

To her surprise, Danny instantly blushed a deep and fiery red. He looked at the floor, then he looked at his mother. He looked at his three older brothers, as if desperate for their help, but Alex, Ben, and Colin were leaning over the fire, making toast.

“Maybe it’s a ‘B,’” Lindsay said. “‘B’ for Ben, is that it, Danny? How silly of me—I can’t see too well from here.”

“It’s an ‘R,’” Danny said on a sudden fierce note. “It is an ‘R.’ It doesn’t look like a ‘B’ at all. It’s an ‘R’ for—”

“For Ripper!” Charlotte cried quickly, hauling herself to her feet and pouring tea. “You know, Lindsay. Ripper, the Jack Russell. Jack the Ripper—one of Max’s ghastly jokes. The one who ate your slippers the last time you came. The one who eats everything in sight.”

Lindsay looked down at the dog in question, who, for once, was quiet, lying snoring at her feet. She wondered why he was the only one of four dogs to be awarded this treat, and why—if that were the case—it had not already been given to him. To her certain knowledge, this tiny and malevolent animal had already consumed three shortbread cookies, the braid from a cushion, one piece of Lego, and four pieces of toast. She was about to remark on this, then thought better of it. Danny, darting small, surreptitious glances at his mother, was still round-eyed with some inexplicable distress.

Still, small children could be like that, Lindsay thought, sinking back in her chair. Perhaps it was some specific ritual Danny had. Perhaps Ripper received his cake when, and only when, his master returned from London—which would be soon, she realized, glancing at her watch. Heavens, it was past five-thirty; they’d been sitting there for ages; Max ought to arrive at about six o’clock.