Dinner was an unusual affair, given that the table sat fourteen and we were a mere three. The staff didn’t eat with the family; they had their own dining room somewhere in yet another corner of the vast estate. There was also a gym, a bowling alley, a movie room, and a library, all scattered throughout the property, plus the pool, spa, sauna, boat dock, and, of course, yacht. All this we were told by Meg, the estate manager, who had escorted us to dinner before heading for her own. Meg looked to be in her forties, dressed like she was in her sixties, and seemed to have the personality of a toaster. Unplugged. If she was pretty, she did her best to hide it.
“So,” said Matilda, once we were all seated, “isn’t this nice.” It was a statement, not a question, and sounded, to my ears, as this i
