The first of November was a chilly time of year for a gathering on the terrace, but it was a household tradition, a sort of impromptu celebration of the sun’s rising after another Hallowe’en night. Now and then it was a welcoming party for new family members; now and then it was relief that they’d successfully navigated the visit of a difficult guest. When the weather was truly bad they moved it inside, but Ségolène was pleased that the sky this year was clear and the temperature not excessively low. Environmental adjustments could be done, but were so difficult and ephemeral without walls to contain them that they were scarcely worth it.
It was still November, however. She wrapped a warm woollen shawl over her dress, an impressively comfortable thing of thick jersey knit with three-quarter sleeves and a long full skirt, and started down the stairs. She preferred her familiar conventional clothing for dealing with guests—it made her feel more like she was on solid footing—but she’d succumbed to the temptation of much more modern casual fashions when only her family were present. Cosmo knew her tastes and was happy to oblige.