Amy Parker, thought Lulu then. As in lovelorn little Parker who had known he had not merited a goddess such as Amy March.

“So Amy’s daughter married a Mr. Parker,” she said thoughtfully.

“It was her granddaughter, in fact,” said Fee. “My aunt Margaret—I think her name was Lamb—married Uncle Ted Parker. The families had been friends for years, and the story was that Ted had actually been called after Aunt Margaret’s grandfather, who was quite a colorful character, they used to say. He was a sweetheart, Uncle Ted. Half Aunt Margaret’s size and couldn’t take his eyes off her. He used to say he’d been in love with her since she beat him in a pillow fight when they were five.”

“Oh, good,” said Lulu. She thought about it and smiled; yes, Amy’s granddaughter and Mr. Parker’s grandson would be a particularly pleasing couple. “I think that’s lovely.”

“What’s so lovely about it?” said Sophie.

“It’s just a nice story,” said Lulu. “You wouldn’t know about it, not having a heart, but it is nice when people who like each other get together.”

“Well, well,” said Emma hopefully. “A romantic sentiment from my sister Lulu. Is there anyone you like, by any chance?”

“Yes,” said Lulu. “The head of the North Dakota League for Protection Against Bossy Brits. He contacted me when he heard you were coming, and what can I say, love bloomed.”

“Much as I hate to interrupt this touching display of sisterly devotion,” said Fee, “I have to talk to you girls about something. The reason your aunt Amy called today was to tell me that she’s coming to London next week.”

The sisters exchanged glances.

“Oh,” said Emma.

“I’m not cutting my hair,” said Lulu.

“I’ve given up asking,” said Fee. “But I am going to ask you all to do something else for me, please. Thursday of next week is the last day of her trip, and the only night she can come to dinner, so I’m going to ask you all to come here to see her.”

“Thursday?” said Sophie. “Sorry, Mom, I can’t. Esme’s in that thing at the Bush, and a group of us are going to see her, it’s all planned.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to change your plans, honey,” said Fee. “Amy has dinners on Monday and Tuesday, and on Wednesday she has tickets to see Hamlet, so Thursday’s the only night she can do.”

“Hamlet?” said Sophie. “At the Vagabond? No! I can’t bear it! Tell me it isn’t true, Mom, or I’ll kill myself!”

The Vagabond Theatre’s current production of Hamlet was a much-talked-about affair with spine-chilling spectral effects, a powerful and furious Ophelia, and erotically charged scenes between unexpected characters. It had been running for two months, and tickets were all but impossible to come by.

“I’d sell my soul to see that Hamlet,” said Sophie. “I’d kill my sister. And I deserve to see it, too. I love the Vagabond; it’s my absolute favorite theater in the whole world, it’s my theater, the one I really, really, really want to work with once I’ve got myself established, and this is supposed to be the best thing they’ve ever done ever. I’ve tried all sorts of ways to get tickets, and not been able to, and Aunt Amy gets to see it just because she’s rich and knows people on boards. Aunt Amy! She never goes to the theater. She doesn’t know Hamlet from a cheese-and-mushroom omelet. This is disastrous. It’s the ultimate unfairness. It’s so annoying it’s left me literally speechless.”