“Of course,” Daphne said. “Marta was my father’s godmother, you know. We spent a lot of time looking at old photos of them last night. I’m relieved that we’ve seen some new advances in hat trends since he was born.” She waved across the room at Freddie. “I hope he got some sleep last night. He’s had it very hard.”

“So we heard,” I said.

“When I die, stuff me into a bottle and shoot me into space,” Freddie said, sidling up to us and bowing to Daphne with a wry smile.

“Please don’t even joke about that,” she said.

“I don’t mean now,” he said. “By the time I kick it, Bex and Nick will have had three hundred babies and no one will care about me anymore. Put me in a Coke can and recycle me and go about your day. Don’t even invite anyone. Although, I’ve got to say that Great-Gran’s turnout is fantastic.”

He turned to survey the room, and then winced, as if he’d pulled something in his hurt arm. Daphne gave him a reproachful look.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted.

Daphne looked at me, exasperated. “He always says this.”

“Well, he’s home now, so we can all keep tabs on him,” I said.

“And accordingly, you can stop talking about me as if I’m not standing right here,” Freddie said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Oh, we also rented out your place as an Airbnb, just so you know. I guess we have to evict them now.”

“I’m really going to miss that income,” Nick said. “Bex and I were spending it all at the track, and I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Freddie laughed, but he didn’t return the conversational volley.

“Nick, I think your father’s trying to get your attention,” Daphne said, gesturing over Nick’s shoulder, where Richard was, in fact, fixing him with a stern expression, accompanied by a head flick toward the handsome old man next to him.

“Ugh. That’s Lord Tarlington,” Nick said, straightening his tie. “He’s got some initiative about vegan British sausages that Father natters on about. I don’t know why we’re doing this today.”

“Why not?” Freddie asked. “Look at Gran. She’s talking shop right now, I guarantee it.”

He nodded toward Eleanor, who was perched on an armchair under the lamp that had the most flattering light, and chatting to Doris Tuesday with a pitying look on her face. There was a line of people twenty deep waiting to speak to her.

“Your father is waving at us now,” Daphne narrated. “He looks agitated.”

“Right. Well, excuse me,” Nick said. He gave Daphne a polite double-kiss farewell, and then pecked my cheek. “Freddie, we didn’t really get a chance to speak earlier, so. We should catch up over a meal. Whenever you’re free.”