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“It’s a pity,” said Uncle Daniel, gravely patting John on the shoulder. “She looked like such a lovely girl, and with so much promise! She would have looked stunning in a mink. Sorry about your baby too.”

John did not answer as he stared at the coffin on its way into the incinerator.

Her pregnancy hadn’t suited Uncle Daniel or the clan at all. There was a certain rhythm in moving up. You needed to adjust to the pace of the family, allow them to educate and cultivate you; learn to appreciate the finer things in life. She had so resisted wanting to learn about Wedgewood, Waterford and Swarovski. The fine marble finishings in the kitchens had escaped her notice, and she had mercilessly sprayed insecticide on them, regardless. And she had so very much resisted quitting her job. No Adams wife ever had to work when it was…

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