CHAPTER 8
OH, HOW I wished I’d never volunteered to help Mother with the floral party, because not only was Midnight conspicuous by his absence, she naturally assumed I’d love to help with her Music in May event too. A string quartet, a classical singer, and a pianist would be joining us for an evening of cultural celebration. At least that was how Mother described it. I knew they’d be joining us for an evening of alcohol and small talk, just like every other event she ever held.
No longer trusted to organise the flowers after the lily debacle, I’d been demoted to furniture—chairs specifically, plus those little tables people abandoned their drinks on. Oh, and could I find a piano tuner for the Steinway grand? Sure, I knew hundreds of them. What next? Cloakroom duty?
Over the past two a
