“I’m stationed in Illinois, Margaret,” I said.

“You came into this building to humiliate your father in front of every business contact he’s built up over thirty years,” she said.

She adjusted her double-strand pearls again.

“This was supposed to be Clare’s evening.”

“It is Clare’s evening,” I said.

Clare stepped through the heavy double doors from the ballroom, her beaded white dress trailing along the carpet behind her.

She walked straight in between Margaret and me, stopping two inches from Margaret’s embroidered heels.