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Like Ellie she had been far from virginal—not overtly sexual or flirtatious but instead frank, comfortable in her own skin, easy with her own needs, and far more experienced than he had been. Adam had once arrived at a house party at which Kate had done a single shot of tequila, spun round, and whispered to him what she wanted to do to him later, a long, low whisper that had ended with him pushing her, he remembered, straight back out of the front door and stumbling together back to her room and Rachel could never, ever know but later, the third time that night, Kate had let him, told him actually, to—
    A song had come into his head, the lyrics aggressive and insistent. Quickly he typed in “Akon, ‘I Wanna Fuck You,’” clicked on Purchase Song, and then took the laptop into his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
    “Please don’t forget that we’ve got the recital at Rupert and Georgina’s this evening.” Michelle was on the phone and Adam had put on his headset. It came out of his desk drawer for conference calls and for his mother—both required lengthy periods on the telephone that otherwise made his neck hurt.
    “I know, you emailed me about it yesterday.”
    “No, I know you know, but just please don’t get stuck at work. They’re looking forward to congratulating you so please make sure today that Lawrence knows it’s important that you leave on time. You’ve got to get all the way to Holland Park.”
    Michelle believed that, because Adam worked for the firm at which Lawrence Gilbert was a founding partner, the two men spent their days in constant communication about their personal lives. In Michelle’s mind, fuzzed with maternal pride, her son spent his days with his future father-in-law in some sort of cozy office for two, accessorized with stacks of important-looking ring binders and perhaps behind a smoked-glass door, a team like Holmes and Watson. The reality of thirty employees, of a long corridor carpeted in fading chartreuse and of private, if shabby, corner rooms for the partners, did not gel with her imaginings. Adam stifled the urge to attempt—yet again—to correct this impression but then stopped. If he did have to work late, it would be helpful to be able to pass the blame on to Lawrence.
    “Okay. I’ll see you there.”
    “Lovely, darling. Make sure you wear a suit.”
    “I’m wearing a suit! I’m at work.”
    “Lovely, well, keep it on.”
    “I’ll do my best. Oh, wait—Mum?”
    “Yes?”
    “I was thinking, maybe you could get Rupert and Georgina to invite Ellie Schneider this evening? Everyone’s been a bit harsh since she arrived. It might be good for her to meet some people.”
    There was a rare silence on the line. On the screen in front of him small white boxes overlapped as e-mails arrived and were ignored.
    “Mum?”
    “Mmm, yes, I was just thinking. It’s a bit of a chutzpah to be honest, I mean, and God knows what the Sabahs will make of her, but it’s a good thought, I should probably do it for Lawrence and Jaffa. Tell Lawrence I’ll take care of it.”

5

    They were proceeding very slowly up the Sabahs’ graveled driveway, as Rachel was wearing high heels for the occasion, a challenge that she did not attempt often enough to have mastered. Adam couldn’t understand why she’d bothered—all evening he would have to be on the lookout for chairs or sideboards on which she could lean if he had to leave her alone. He suspected that it was related to her cousin’s arrival. More than once recently he had come home to find Rachel inspecting herself from all angles, arching like a hooked fish and declaring woefully that she was too fat and too short. The fat was her usual complaint; the short was new.
    As they approached the front door, Rachel squeezed his arm and whispered, “This house gets bigger every time we come here. I always forget how gorgeous it is.”
    “I never forget how gorgeous you are.”
    “You’re so sweet. I’m not sure,