“A couple more photographs of Grandma Jo,” said Lulu. “At least, I think they’re of her, the family do tend to look alike. Do you think I look like her?”

“I think you’re prettier.” She reached across the table to lift a lock of Lulu’s curls. “If only we could see you behind all the hair.”

“Mom!”

Fee sighed. “It was worth a try,” she said.

“Well, consider it tried,” said Lulu. “It’s too hot for tea, can I have a Coke?”

She got up and went to open the fridge. “Who is Jane, anyway?” she asked from behind the door.

“Oh, sweetie,” said Fee. “Can’t you get over that, please? It was an ill-judged suggestion on your father’s part, but it’s not as if he drugged you, dragged you onto the plane, and forced you to meet her. He meant well, and he’s sorry, okay?”

“I should hope he is.” Lulu hoped her father was sorry for many things, right now. She returned to the table and opened her can of drink. “Was it your idea, too?”

“That’s between me and your father.” Which meant no, thought Lulu: Fee and David had always provided a united front to their children. Or rather, she reminded herself, had always used to.

“I just want to know who Jane is,” she said. “He’s spending most of the weekend with her, so I’d like to know.”

“Okay.” Fee squeezed lemon into her tea, and stirred, thinking. “There’s not very much to know, really. They were at Oxford together. I think she might have read English with him, but I’m not sure. She married a man who left her for another woman, which I think is a wicked thing for a man to do to his wife, and an even more wicked one for a woman to do to another woman. She plays bridge, she’s active somehow in local politics, and she has that unspeakably terrible profession we’re not allowed to mention. Oh, and she’s had a rough year, poor thing, some sort of romantic breakup, which is particularly hard when you get older, and she’s also been in the hospital with a stomach ulcer, although it seems to have cleared up now. And that’s about it, really. She’s not the most interesting woman in the world, to tell you the truth, but your father’s fond of her.”

“Was she ever his girlfriend?” asked Lulu.

“I don’t think so,” said Fee. “He was with that nice Finnish girl for most of the time at Oxford, and I think Jane married quite young. I suppose they might have had a fling at one point—we were always having flings in those days—but he’s never mentioned it. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” said Lulu. Then, “Does he have a nickname for her?”

“I don’t think so. I think he just calls her Jane.” Her attention at last aroused, Fee looked up at her daughter in curiosity. “What a funny question, Lulu, why on earth would you want to know that?”