“For what?”
“Three dinner suits. Four-year-olds.”
Saturday was bright and cold.
That estate looked like a magazine. White roses in banks, a quartet by the fountain, four hundred people on the lawn with champagne.
Rowena was on the upper terrace watching the drive, because of course she was.
What came through those gates was three black cars.
The first one stopped at the top of the aisle and about four hundred people turned round.
I got out in green.
And then I turned and put my hand back toward the door, and Linus got down onto the gravel, and then Gus, and then Ivo, in three small velvet dinner suits with their hair done.
