CHAPTER ELEVEN — THE ROOM AFTER THE GUESTS

Julian ended the supper with a speech about misunderstandings.
Some guests left quickly, eager to put distance between themselves and the spectacle.
Others remained to whisper over their coats.
The editor requested permission to describe the photographic demonstration in the next edition.
Julian refused with such force that the editor smiled and wrote down the refusal.
Martin stood beside the staircase until the last carriage departed.
Then Julian seized him by the collar and dragged him into the study.
Samuel heard a chair overturn.
Catherine went to the door, but Pritchard blocked her path.
“Mr. Vale is occupied,” he said.
“He can be occupied with me as well.”
She pushed past him.
Inside, Martin stood against the mantel while Julian paced between desk and window.


“You promised discretion,” Julian snapped.
“You promised no one would be hurt,” Martin replied.
“Do you understand what you have done to us?”
Martin looked exhausted.
“I understand what we tried to do to Samuel.”
Julian turned toward Catherine.
“This is your work.”
She met his gaze.
“You hired the photographer.”
“You invited strangers into my home.”
“You meant to use that home as a stage.”
Julian approached her, and Martin moved uneasily away from the mantel.
“You think a ruined picture has given you victory?” Julian asked.
“No,” Catherine answered.
“I think it has given everyone a clearer view of what you are.”
Julian slapped the desk with his palm.
“Tomorrow Samuel goes to the southern property.”
Catherine felt a familiar temptation to bargain.
She could offer silence, surrender the letters,

or pretend that the marriage might still be repaired.
Then she remembered Samuel standing in the sitting room with empty hands, asking only to speak his own words.
“Which property?” she asked.
“That is not your concern.”
“It is mine because you tried to make him a weapon against me.”
Julian laughed once.
“You imagine that makes him yours to protect?”
“No,” she said.
“That is exactly what I no longer imagine.”
She left the room before she said something Samuel would later have to pay for.
At the foot of the stairs Liza was waiting with a covered bowl.
“Samuel hasn’t eaten since noon,” she said.
Catherine looked at her.
“Where is he?”
“With Ruth.”
“Tell him Julian means to send him away tomorrow.”
“He knows.”
Catherine swallowed.
“What does he intend to do?”
Liza’s expression remained unreadable.
“I don’t know what he intends to tell you.”
She carried the bowl past Catherine and into the night.
Catherine stayed by the door until the sound of her footsteps disappeared.
Only then did she understand that Samuel and his family were not waiting for her to invent a solution.
They had already begun making decisions from which she might be excluded.