Chapter 8
We learned I was pregnant almost two years to the day of our second wedding, and we spent that summer confronting the almost overwhelming task of finding a suitable name for our child.
“Shall we name him after you, darling?”
“Good God, no!” Nigel looked horrified. “I was saddled with this name because apparently my mother had fond memories of a college professor. I won’t do that to my own son!”
But he had no objection to his middle name, Quinton. Oddly enough, we didn’t choose a girl’s name.
“You really should, Portia,” Mother insisted. We were having dinner with her while Father was in New York meeting with the secretary general, and the topic of girls’ names had come up.
“Mrs. Sebring, if it’s a girl, we’ll just name her after the day of the week on which she’s born.” Nig
