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of the family when he didn’t do anything?”
    Geoffrey, whose attention had been recaptured by the scent of conversational blood, had followed this last exchange with lively interest. “What Michael is trying to say is that Branwell must be the genius of the family by sheer potential, Elizabeth. Because his sisters were mere girls, and look what they accomplished. Since he was the male of the family, think what a wonder he’d have been if he’d tried. Right, Michael?”
    Satisky flushed and stammered that he hadn’t meant that at all, but by then Elizabeth had begun to talk to Geoffrey about something else, so he lapsed into silent contemplation of his baked ham. He professed to be something of a vegetarian himself at the university, but he told himself that there was no sense in lettingall this good food go to waste—a thought which he hastily amended to: a change of diet will be good for my system, and anyway I can’t save the creature’s life by not eating him now that he’s already here on the plate. I might as well eat, since conversing with these people is impossible.
    He wished Eileen would hurry up. At least she was so besotted with him—committed to their cherishing relationship, he corrected himself—that she would listen to all his opinions in respectful silence. Eileen had thought the master’s thesis on Branwell was a good idea. Thank goodness she wasn’t a little schemer like that catty cousin of hers sitting over there talking and laughing with the Cobra-Fairy.
    Oh, well, thought Satisky, he could put up with it. He had a million reasons to put up with it.
    Eileen Chandler always braced herself before she entered a room. She envisioned herself walking in to a hail of laughter and catcalls, and she cringed in anticipation of the ordeal. Never had it happened in real life, but years of dread had forged the possibility into a tenuous reality in her mind.
    “Well, Eileen, you haven’t got time to change, so we’ll have to take you as you are. Whatever kept you?” her mother demanded.
    “She was on her way, really she was,” said Alban, who stood smiling in the doorway. “She was just packing up the painting when I got to the lake.” He patted Eileen’s shoulder reassuringly. “Go and eat, kiddo.”
    Eileen took her place beside Michael, giving him a quick smile and then staring absently at her plate.
    “Is the painting finished?” asked Charles.
    Eileen shook her head.
    “How much longer will you be, dear?” asked Amanda. “I expect you want it framed before the wedding. It would look so nice on display at the reception, wouldn’t it, Lou?”
    “I should be finished by tomorrow night,” said Eileen to no one in particular.
    “What are you painting?” asked Elizabeth.
    Eileen stared at her for a moment, and then slowly shook her head.
    “That’s the bride’s little secret!” said Amanda gaily. “She won’t breathe a word ’til it’s finished.”
    Thinking back on it later, Elizabeth realized that this moment was the turning point. If Eileen had answered her question, then the rest would not have happened.

CHAPTER FIVE
    E LIZABETH SPENT MOST of dinner dreading the inevitable after-dinner wedding conference, which she was sure Amanda would inflict on her captive audience, but to her surprise Amanda was the first to leave the dining room. She bade everyone a brisk good night, with a few reminders of tomorrow’s tasks, and hurried upstairs.
    “Isn’t she feeling well?” Elizabeth asked Charles.
    “Oh, she always does that. We never see her after dinner. The rest of us go into the family room and drink coffee until we can think of something better to do, which for me will be at ten o’clock. They’re showing a special on television: Enrico Fermi and the Chicago Pile.”
    “A horror movie about hemorrhoids, no doubt,” snapped Geoffrey. “Come along, Elizabeth. How do you take your coffee?”
    Michael and Eileen announced that they were going outside for a walk and