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opened. Uncle Amos used his back to lever it open, in his hands was a large plate with a stack of sandwiches. When he saw Helene, his face reflected surprise for only a moment. "Brought us something to eat. Figured we all needed a little something to relax."
     "How terribly considerate," Helene's father muttered under his breath.
     "Well, are you or are you not going to tell us why you're here?" her mother demanded.
     "Do you have any wine?" Helene asked, looking toward the cabinet. Phillip's whiskey might not have been such a bad idea after all.
     Her father frowned but poured her a glass, then looked expectantly at her.
     She hoped to find a little courage in the ruby liquid. "I've left Phillip," she said finally when she could think of no easier words.
     "Left him?" her mother echoed. "What on earth are you talking about? You just married him."
     "It was a mistake."
     "A mistake?" Her father frowned, obviously trying to make sense out of the words and lost somewhere back around hello. “What did he do? He didn’t hit you did he?”
     "Phillip didn’t do anything. I just don't love him. I can't be the sort of wife he needs. I don't want to be the sort of wife he needs." She knew they would never understand, but she had to try.
     "Lord, Helene," her father said, slapping his forehead, "couldn't you have figured that out before the wedding. How's this going to look?"
     That seemed to be everyone's first concern. "Unpleasant," she admitted, "but there's nothing I can do about that now. I will return everyone’s gifts, of course. I'm sorry for hurting you, but I can't live a lie and that's what staying married to Phillip would have meant."
     "This is as insane as anything I’ve heard of." Her father looked around the room as though possibly the answer for the insanity that had struck his family might be found in a corner or in a painting.
     Their chef, Georgie, entered, a tray with coffee pot and cups on it. When she saw Helene, she nearly dropped everything, "What are you doing here?" she asked, as though no one before her might have thought to ask the question.
     "Never mind that, Georgie," Helene's mother said with a mournful sigh. "Could you get us some tea?"
     "First you want coffee and sandwiches. Now tea." She threw up her hands. "You know we have an agreement. No cooking after. Well I was supposed to be off-duty half hour ago." Georgie looked at Helene with questioning eyes.
     "Well, excuse me ," Helene's mother grumbled, "but just exactly who's the cook and who's the mistress around here?"
     "I am no man's slave," Georgie retorted, lifting her head proudly, her eyes narrowed as she glared at Helene's mother. "If you don't like my work, you can fire me."
     "No, I didn't mean that." Helene's mother's voice became instantly placating. "Forget the tea. You know we love your work."
     Georgie nodded and then looked again at Helene. "You don't look so good."
     "Thanks," Helene said, feeling as brittle as a piece of glass.
     "Maybe I will make you some tea. You look like you could use it." The cook walked out mumbling to herself.
     "If it only weren't so difficult to find reliable help," Helene's mother sighed. "I would fire her. I swear I would."
     Helene laughed, almost amused despite her upset. "You would not. Georgie's been with us since I was seven. Twenty years and you know you wouldn't have her any other way. Half the time you spoil her unmercifully."
     "It's the only way to keep good help. You can't believe the competition among my friends for reliable servants. Ernestine would kill to get the chance to hire Georgie."
     "The trials of the rich," Uncle Amos inserted with a grin as he bit into a sandwich.
     "All right, young lady," her father said, his glare returning to Helene. "I would like a full explanation. What have you done?"
     "I've told Phillip that I'll file for an annulment and I think we should tell everyone the whole thing is my fault because that's the simple truth. I never