“It’s a lovely spread this year,” Henrietta said. She felt Didier’s gaze drop, as if her platitudes embarrassed him, and then snag on the froth of dyed chiffon at her neck.

“Chloe does most of it,” he said, when he looked up again. “A shame your friend Miss Bannister couldn’t be here. Are you working on something new together?”

“Daphne is always working on something,” Henrietta said blandly, ignoring his interest in her relationship with Daphne. “As am I. Charlie seems excited about the possibility of studying in Philadelphia.”

“Your idea, I gather,” Didier said.

She said something vague, meant to mollify, about the university’s strong paleontology department and her illustrious friend.

“But there are excellent paleontologists at Yale, and at Cornell. So why would you push Charlie toward Penn?”

“Because that’s where I know someone. I want to make sure he’s looked after, I suppose.” She paused, hearing again the word “push,” trying to understand Didier’s edgy tone. He didn’t seem to like it when Charlie worked at Bernard’s pottery, either. “Didn’t you spend some time in Pennsylvania, when you were Charlie’s age?”

“I was older,” he said, straightening his cuffs. “But yes—that’s where I met Chloe.”

“I’d forgotten,” Henrietta said, still puzzled by his tone. “I just remember you being away for a couple of years, and then coming back from France with Chloe and Charlie.”

Didier frowned and scratched at an invisible speck on one cuff.

“Did I do something wrong?” Henrietta asked. “I recommend students to programs all the time.” Even you, she added silently, remembering the letter she’d written for him when he went to college. He hadn’t been so stuffy as a boy. “Charlie’s a remarkable student. I was trying to make sure he had as many opportunities as possible.”

“Indeed,” Didier said. He looked down at the crook of his elbow, where a hand suddenly appeared. “Chloe,” he said, as his wife slid in beside him. “Henrietta and I were just talking about Charlie’s prospects.”

Her eyes, Henrietta thought, were as striking as ever. Wide, slightly protuberant, the gray irises flecked with amber and the outer corners unusually open. Charlie had inherited not only her eyes but the shape of her face, wide at the cheekbones, narrow at the chin. Her steady regard felt like a metal blade sliding over Henrietta’s skin.

“Do we have prospects?” Chloe said. “Any of us? Charlie might be better off looking for paying work. Your job”—she was still looking at Henrietta—“is at least secure, people always need teachers. But the rest of us—who’s going to survive this? Who’s going to still be here, in five years? Or twenty?”

“We’ll be fine,” Didier said. “You know I’m doing everything I can.”