The entire estate smelled of jasmine, white wine, and disaster.

No one dared leave. The guests pretended to retreat out of modesty, but they all remained close together, in small, motionless groups, captivated by the obscene magnetism of a family disintegrating in public. A waiter tried to pick up the shards of glass, and another received the order, in a nervous whisper, to suspend the appetizer service. Even the photographer had lowered his camera, but not far enough: he knew how to recognize a unique image.White wines

—Clara —said my father in a restrained voice—, it's over.

—No. Start now, —she replied.

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