She had barely swallowed two bites of her frittata when her chin slumped to her chest and she dozed off in her seat, fork still in hand. Juanita had to practically carry the tiny woman off to her bedroom, which she did with an effortlessness that suggested she had done the same countless times before. Pleasantly buzzed from her three prelunch drinks, Lorna worked the afternoon away on her laptop, typing new notes and reorganizing old ones. Everything had changed since her arrival at the Alfredson mansion. It now was a completely different story with more usable elements than Lorna had ever anticipated. The narrative was writing itself in her head, but she was desperate to tease out the rest of the family history from her great-aunt. Consumed by her work, Lorna didn’t notice that the sun had lowered and the afternoon had given way to evening until she heard Dot’s clipped voice calling from downstairs. “Darling, dinner is on the table. And the wine has breathed so well that it’s positively panting now.”
