“Freddie, I’m sure they love you for you,” I said. “Daphne definitely does. Tell her.”

“No.” He dropped the plates in the sink. “I’d rather not know if you’re wrong.”

“I could kill Father,” Nick said, staring at the ceiling in frustration. “We’re in no-man’s-land because he’s chosen to pull a runner and fall into a vat of daiquiris or something. Am I meant to GIF him back? What do I send?”

“Rihanna rolling up the car window,” I said. “No, wait, Angela Lansbury eating popcorn.”

Freddie nibbled on his thumbnail. “That look on his face. I can’t forget it,” he said. “What if he really doesn’t come back?”

Nick took a long sip of his coffee. “I have no idea,” he said, as he put his cup down with a clatter. “I have absolutely no idea what to do about anything.”

* * *

I have never thought of myself as an actress, but over the course of the next month, the three of us may have outdone everyone performing on the West End. The public had never loved me more—being pregnant seemed to have absolved me of allegedly banging my husband’s brother—so Nick and Freddie and I were deployed steadily to draw attention away from the otherwise potentially glaring absence of their father. Our three-person act, honed out of necessity, worked like a charm. But the void he left inside The Firm was gaping. In addition to the wedding itself, Hax and Lax had planned a gala celebratory dinner that week, as well as some kind of variety show at a local soccer stadium, and it was a challenge to be evasive about whether the father of the freaking groom would be in attendance.

“Where’s Dickie?” Agatha wondered at one of our logistics meetings.

“Nagging chest infection,” Freddie said.

“Migraines,” Nick said at the same time.

“Both,” I said quickly. “All that coughing.”

“He’s recuperating at the country house,” Nick said, “but he said we should keep meeting here so that, ah, Barnes and the staff wouldn’t be inconvenienced.”

“He must be awfully ill,” Edwin said. “I sent him one of those cute little videos where it turns your face into a doggie, and he didn’t even tell me to get stuffed.” He frowned. “It’s so unlike him.”

“Is it a sex bender, dear?” Lady Elizabeth asked me. “You can tell me. We’ve all been there. Eddybear once sprained his—”

“He’ll be fine,” said Eleanor, and we all scrambled to our feet as she entered. Her rubber-tipped cane dragged on the carpet; I hadn’t known she was back to using it, but then again, this could have been a bit of theater to evoke sympathy. “I spoke to him this morning and he’s keeping his distance so as not to infect Frederick. The groom is the one person this wedding can’t do without, after all. Now. Where are we?”

Nick put a hand on the binder in front of him. “I’d been running things while Father is, er, out,” he said, glancing at Eleanor. “Would you like to take the reins?”