“I swear to you that that is what she said,” said Sophie later, drinking tea at the kitchen table with Lulu and Jamie while the November dusk fell outside. “Cross my heart and hope to die, it’s a word-for-word direct quote.” She cocked her head like an arch little bird and pursed her lips prettily. “‘He can be the eensiest weensiest little bit of a naughty-waughty boydie, but I think you can deal with him, my precious.’ And that is exactly how she talks, isn’t it, James?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Jamie. “She refused to take me on, didn’t she?”

“Well, she doesn’t do boys. She says they’re loud and rude, although I can’t see that they’re worse than girls, I’m much louder than you, and I’d say that bloody Miranda Fentiman is about as rude as it’s humanly possible to be. But never mind, I’ll go and soften up naughty Hughie Brown, and once I’ve made friends with him, I’ll take you to meet him and you can both be naughty-waughty boy-dies together. And talking of boys, Lulu, I spoke to Mom today, and she says Tom says thanks for the invitation and he’d love to come.”

Lulu, brushing a piece of Hampstead Heath from her sleeve, looked up, puzzled.

“What invitation?” she said.

“You invited her to bring him here for Thanksgiving,” said Sophie. “Remember?”

One of the American habits that Fee had brought with her to London was to celebrate Thanksgiving in November; for the last two years, Lulu had assumed the role of family cook.

“I didn’t invite him,” said Lulu. “He’s welcome to come, but I didn’t invite him. Maybe Mom did and forgot.” Her face darkened. “No, she didn’t. I bet bloody Emma did.”

Emma had not mentioned Tom to Lulu lately, and Lulu had supposed that with all her preparation for North Dakota, she had forgotten her matchmaking plan. Apparently not.

“Awww.” Sophie smiled. “She wants you to be happy. She wants you to be in loooooove. Like her and Matthew, and Charlie and Javier.” Since the summer, Charlie and Javier had slid so seamlessly into a relationship that people were starting to forget they had ever not been together. Sophie linked her arm through Jamie’s and dropped her head sentimentally onto his shoulder. “And Jamie and me,” she added.

Jamie smiled weakly. His skill in looking other than wistful when Sophie joked that they were boyfriend and girlfriend had not improved; and by this stage, thought Lulu a little sadly, it probably never would.

“She can want all she likes,” Lulu said now. “If she’s so fond of him, why doesn’t she leave Matthew and run away with him herself? I hope we’ve got enough chairs for all these people who’re coming, by the way. How many are we?”

“Ten, I think,” said Sophie. “Mom and Dad, Emma and Matthew, Charlie and Javier, you and your smoochie-woochie cuddly-wuddly boyfriend Tom—”

“And if you don’t cut that out, you’ll be walking down to McDonald’s for Thanksgiving dinner,” said Lulu. “And don’t think I don’t mean it. How do you get ten? So far there’s eight and maybe you, if you behave yourself.”