Madeline collapsed in a rattan chair, defeated. Then she popped back up. She wanted more wine; she would drink it from a juice glass.

Grace followed her into the kitchen. “I don’t want you to leave until you and I have a chance to talk in private. We’ll go upstairs after dinner. This isn’t something I can discuss on the phone.”

“Oh,” Madeline said. “Okay.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Eddie called.

Conversation at dinner was interrupted by the insistent buzzing of Allegra’s phone.

Eddie finally said, “Allegra, turn it off or take it inside.”

“Ian Coburn must really want to talk to you,” Brick said.

Allegra said, “We’re friends, okay? Is that not allowed?”

Trevor said, “The salsa is delicious.”

“Thank you,” Grace said.

Eddie, Madeline noticed, hadn’t touched his food. He was still picking Bremner wafers off the appetizer plate.

“It’s allowed,” Brick said. “Of course it’s allowed. As long as you’re only friends. As long as that’s all it is.”

“Of course that’s all it is,” Allegra said. She threw her embroidered napkin on top of her taco mess. Grace, Madeline knew, laundered and ironed each napkin before these dinners. “How dare you suggest otherwise!”

Otherwise, Madeline thought. Something was going on between Allegra and Ian Coburn. She felt a hot, pulsing anger. Then she remembered her vow with Grace. We won’t get involved.

“Allegra—” Brick said.

But Allegra was up and out of her chair, her phone tucked into the pocket of her ruined jacket.

She said, “Save it, Brick.” And disappeared into the kitchen.

Brick looked like he wanted to chase after her, but he stayed put.

Madeline finished her glass of wine. She stood up to refill her glass, but Grace said, “It’s gone. Do you want Eddie to grab another bottle from the cellar?”

No, Madeline thought. They should go. Poor Brick had been humiliated enough for one night. But Grace had something to tell her that couldn’t be discussed over the phone, and Madeline was intrigued.

“Yes,” she said.

Eddie brought up two bottles of Screaming Eagle cabernet, and Madeline blinked. Was she seeing things? He’d always said he was saving those bottles for his deathbed.

Madeline said, “Edward, what are you doing?”

He said, “I want to pour this tonight. I’m not sure why—it’s just a gut feeling.”

“That’s as good a reason as any,” Trevor said. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

Grace went into the kitchen to bring everyone a fresh Baccarat wine goblet.

Brick said, “You’re having more wine? I thought you said we could go. Dad?”

Trevor said, “This is the best wine any of us are likely to taste. Eddie spent… how long on the wait list?”

“Eight years and seven months,” Eddie said proudly.

“I don’t care,” Brick said. “Sorry, Mr. Pancik. I just want to go.”

They should go, Madeline thought. Brick never complained. They should save the Screaming Eagle for a night when there was something to celebrate. Such as the spec houses selling and a major return on her and Trevor’s investment coming in.

But Eddie pulled the cork and started pouring the adults wine. They all touched glasses in a moment of peace.

Allegra poked her head out of her bedroom window and called down to the deck. “Brick, would you come up here, please?”

Madeline watched indecision cross her son’s face.

“Please, Brick?” Allegra said.

Brick stood up and went inside.

“Good,” Grace whispered. “They’ll work things out.”

Ian Coburn, Madeline thought. He was a very good-looking kid who had graduated from Nantucket High School the year before. His father was a private-equity guy who commuted back and forth to New York City. His mother was shrill and oblivious to everything but her son’s charms. Ian Coburn had been one of the kids who had been allowed to have parties and serve alcohol with his parents’ blessing. He was, Madeline thought, bad news.

We won’t get involved.

“Keep the door open!” Eddie called out.

Grace refilled her and Madeline’s glasses while Eddie watched how much of his precious wine left the bottle. Grace said, “I have something I want to show Madeline upstairs. Will you boys be all right out here by yourselves?”

“Cigars,” Eddie said to Trevor.

“I hear ya,” Trevor said.

“Oh, look,” Eddie said. “I have two Cohibas right here in my pocket.”

Madeline followed Grace inside, through the kitchen, and up the grand, sweeping staircase. One could fit three or four of the Llewellyns’ house inside the Pancik house, but Madeline had given up on envy long ago. It was fruitless.

They entered Grace’s study, which was a near-exact replica of her grandmother Sabine’s study at the estate in Wayland. The room was too dark and formal for Madeline’s sunny tastes, although it was elegant. There were hunting prints on the taupe walls, built-in walnut bookshelves, and thick brocade drapes. Grace had inherited the enormous, ornately carved mahogany desk from Sabine, along with the thick Persian rug—hundreds of thousands of silk knots in burgundy and navy and cream. Madeline inhaled. She did love the way the room smelled—like sandalwood and old books. Grace had been a French-literature major at Mount Holyoke, so her shelves were lined with Victor Hugo and Voltaire, Colette and Proust, Émile Zola, Dumas, Camus. She had a collection of twenty-four Ted Muehling candlesticks, which held an assortment of slender white, ivory, and dove-gray candles. She had an antique ink pot and a quill pen that actually worked. A banjo clock ticked on the wall and announced the passing of every fifteen minutes in a brassy tenor.