The next evening, Brody arrived home a little after five. Ellen was setting the dinner table in the dining room. Brody kissed her on the cheek and said, “Boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that silver.” It was Ellen’s wedding silver, a gift from her parents.

“I know. It took me hours to polish it.”

“And will you look at this?” Brody picked up a tulip wine glass. “Where did you get these?”

“I bought them at the Lure.”

“How much?” Brody set the glass down on the table.

“Not much,” she said, folding a napkin and placing it neatly beneath a dinner fork and salad fork.

“How much?”

“Twenty dollars. But that was for a whole dozen.”

“You don’t kid around when you throw a party.”

“We didn’t have any decent wine glasses,” she said defensively. “The last of our old ones broke months ago, when Sean tipped over the sideboard.”

Brody counted the places set around the table. “Only six?” he said. “What happened?”

“The Baxters couldn’t make it. Cici called. Clem had to go into town on some business, and she thought she’d go with him. They’re spending the night.” There was a fragile lift to her voice, a false insouciance.

“Oh,” said Brody. “Too bad.” He dared not show that he was pleased. “Who’d you get for Hooper, some nice young chick?”

“Daisy Wicker. She works for Gibby at the Bibelot. She’s a nice girl.”

“What time are people coming?”

“The Meadows and Daisy at seven-thirty. I asked Matthew for seven.”

“I thought his name was Matt.”

“Oh, that’s just an old joke he reminded me of. Apparently, I used to call him Matthew when he was young. The reason I wanted him to come early was so the kids would have a chance to get to know him. I think they’ll be fascinated.”

Brody looked at his watch. “If people aren’t coming till seven-thirty, that means we won’t be eating till eight-thirty or nine. I’ll probably starve to death before then. I think I’ll grab a sandwich.” He started for the kitchen.

“Don’t stuff yourself,” said Ellen. “I’ve got a delicious dinner coming.”

Brody sniffed the kitchen aromas, eyed the clutter of pots and packages, and said, “What are you cooking?”

“It’s called butterfly lamb,” she said. “I hope I don’t do something stupid and botch it.”

“Smells good,” said Brody. “What’s this stuff by the sink? Should I throw it out and wash the pot?”

From the living room Ellen said, “What stuff?”

“This stuff in the pot.”

“What—omigod!” she said, and she hurried into the kitchen. “Don’t you dare throw it out.” She saw the smile on Brody’s face. “Oh, you rat.” She slapped him on the rear. “That’s gazpacho. Soup.”

“Are you sure it’s still okay?” he teased. “It looks all slimy.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to look like, you clot.”

Brody shook his head. “Old Hooper’s going to wish he ate at the Abelard.”

“You’re a beast,” she said. “Wait till you taste it. You’ll change your tune.”