Margaret caught my arm near the coat room alcove, her fingers pinching through the sleeve of my navy linen dress.

“Evelyn,” Margaret said, her voice dripping with sweetness as she steered me toward table one.

“Come over here.

There’s someone you need to meet.”

Richard Hail stood near the front table, holding a glass of sparkling water.

He was fifty-eight, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, and he checked his gold wristwatch twice before we reached him.

“Richard, this is Evelyn,” Margaret said, adjusting her pearl necklace with her free hand.

“Gerald’s eldest daughter.