Victor did not come out of the study until six.
Three hours and forty-two minutes from the moment his voice had elevated and dropped back into controlled silence. I knew the duration because I had checked the time when it happened and checked it again when I heard the study door open and his footsteps move toward the main bedroom corridor.
He did not come downstairs for dinner.
Margaret sent Mrs. Carter up with a tray at seven, a communication in itself, the specific language of a Whitmore household event where the family’s public cohesion was suspended in favour of private crisis management. Margaret came to the dining table herself and sat at her usual place and conducted the meal with the particular rigid composure of a woman who had decided that maintaining form was the only availab
