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aimed at them. “How Phillips stands her, I don’t know.”
    â€œHe seems to come to heel when she snaps her fingers.” Marc’s dry tone was probably intended to hide the pain he must feel.
    â€œWould you expect anything else?” The voice came from behind her.
    Dinah turned. Not James Harwood. It was really too much that they’d run into both of the men who’d been Marc’s closest friends in the same night. Still, Jamesand Phillips ran in identical social circles, and they were both mainstays of the Alpha Club, regulars at the elegant old building that graced a corner of Market Street near The Battery.
    â€œHello, James.” This time Marc didn’t bother to offer his hand. It was clear from the coldness on James’s face that it wouldn’t be taken.
    â€œJames, I—” A lady always smoothes over awkward situations. That was one of Aunt Kate’s favorite maxims, but Dinah couldn’t think of a thing to say.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have come back.” James bit off the words. “You’re not welcome here.”
    Court took a step closer to his father. The hurt in his eyes cut Dinah to the heart. Court shouldn’t have to hear things like that. Marc should have realized what might happen when he brought him here.
    â€œI’m sorry you feel that way.” Marc’s tone was cool, the voice of a man meeting rudeness with calm courtesy. But a muscle in his jaw twitched as if he’d like to hit something. Or someone.
    â€œI think we’re ready to leave now.” She’d better intervene before they both forgot themselves. “We have what we came for, don’t we, Court?”
    Politeness required that Court turn to her, and she linked her arm with his casually. “Ready, Marc?”
    Please. Don’t make matters worse by getting into a quarrel with James. It’s not worth it.
    Whether he sensed her plea or not, she didn’t know. He flexed his hands, and she held her breath. Then he turned and walked steadily toward the car.
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    â€œHey, wouldn’t it look cool if we strung lights along the banister?” Court, standing halfway up the staircase, looked down.
    Struck by a sudden flicker of resemblance to Annabel in his son’s face, Marc couldn’t answer for a moment. Then he managed a smile.
    â€œSounds great. What do you think?”
    He turned to Dinah, who was dusting off the stack of ornament boxes they’d just carried down from the attic. In jeans and a faded College of Charleston sweatshirt, her dark curls pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked little older than the sixteen-year-old he remembered.
    She straightened, frowning at the stairwell. “What do you think of twining lights with an evergreen swag along the railing? I think I remember several swags in a plastic bag in the attic.”
    â€œI’ll go see.” Court galloped up the steps, managing to raise a few stray dust motes that danced in the late-afternoon light. A thud announced that he’d arrived at the attic door.
    Marc winced. “Sorry. Court doesn’t do much of anything quietly.”
    â€œI’d be worried about him if he did.” Dinah glanced up the stairwell, as if following Court in her mind’s eye. “At least he’s not showing any signs that being here bothers him. And if he’s not upset after what happened last night—”
    â€œI know. I guess I haven’t said you were right, but you were. We should have gone somewhere else for the tree.”
    â€œI wish I hadn’t been right.” Her face was warm with sympathy.
    Maybe it was the sympathy that led him to say more than he intended. “I expected antagonism from Margo. She never liked Phil’s friendship with me, and she and Annabel were like oil and water.”
    â€œI remember.” Dinah’s smile flickered. “Annabel had a few uncomplimentary names for her.”
    â€œWhich she