“The feuding, in case you’ve been asleep, was caused by forces outside our control,” Iris retorted. “You gained precisely nothing, except for a wife-beating son-in-law. Your granddaughter, now, has actually done something useful for the first time in living memory in this Clan of parasites. She’s actually uncovered some of the reasons why we’ve been messed up for so long. The least you could do is apologize to her!”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hildegarde said stiffly. But Miriam saw her grip on Hjorth’s arm tighten.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Oliver Hjorth muttered in her ear: “You’re quite right about them.” He cast a poisonous stare at Miriam. “Especially that one.”

“You—” Miriam was brought up short by Olga’s hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t,” Olga said urgently. “He wants you to react.”

For the first time, Hjorth smiled. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “On that note, I shall bid you adieu, ladies. If I may conduct you back to civilized conversation, madam?” he added to the dowager.

Iris stared bleaky at the receding back of her mother. “I swear she’ll outlive us all,” Iris muttered. Then she glanced at Miriam. “There’s no justice in this world, is there, kid?”

“What was she talking about?” Miriam asked slowly. “The treachery thing.”

“An old disagreement,” said Iris. She sounded old and tired. “A bit like picking at scabs. Most families have got the odd skeleton in the closet. We’ve got a whole damn graveyard in every wardrobe, practicing their line dancing. Don’t sweat it.”

“But—” Miriam stopped. She remembered her wine glass and took a mouthful. Her hand was shaking so badly that she nearly spilled it.

“You won,” Olga said thoughtfully.

“Huh?”

“She’s right. You went eyeball to eyeball with the baron, and he blinked. They’ll know you’ve got balls now. That counts for everything here. And I—” Iris stopped.

“You got your mother on the defensive,” said Miriam. “Didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” Iris said uncertainly. “Old iron-face must be rusting. Either that, or there’s a deep game I don’t know about. She never used to concede anything.”

“Iron-face?”

“What we called her. Me and your aunt Elsa.”

“I have an aunt, too?”

“Had. She died. Olga, if you don’t mind taking over my chair? Miriam seems to be having trouble.”

“Died—”

“You didn’t think I had it in for the old bat just because of how she treated me, did you?”

“Oh.” Miriam bolted back the rest of her wine glass, sensing the depths she was treading water over. “I think I need another glass now.”

“Better drink it quick, then. Things are about to get interesting again.”