Phần I
The message came through Tessa, which meant Vivian had chosen her messenger carefully.
Mother wants you in the attic at five. The veil. It's an Ashby bride thing. Please come. She's been weird all day. Weirder. And then, a minute later: Are you and Jules okay?? He looks like death.
Ellie didn't answer the second text.
At five o'clock she climbed the narrow back stairs of Heron Hall to the third floor, where the ceilings sloped and the air smelled like cedar and old lace and the heat of the roof. At the end of the hall was a long room with dormer windows looking out over the river. Steamer trunks. Hatboxes. A rack of garment bags with dates pinned to them in faded ink: 1952. 1961. 1985.
In the middle of the room, on a dressmaker's form, hung a veil.
It was cathedral length, ivory gone faintly gold with age, the lace so fine it looked like frost. The late sun came through the dormer and lit it from behind so that it seemed to float.
Vivian Ashby stood beside it with her hands folded.
Her eyes went straight to Ellie's left hand. The bare finger.
"You've taken off your ring," she said.
"Yes."
Vivian nodded slowly, as if something had been confirmed.
"Good," she said. "Then we can talk as two women. Instead of a bride and her mother-in-law. Sit down, Eleanor. You've been asking about my boat."