The workshop had been built overnight on the south lawn: a hundred and twenty benches under a long canvas roof open at the sides, each with a forge-stone, a rack of tools and a sealed wooden box. The air smelled of hot metal and wet grass. Late-morning sun came in slantwise and lay across the benches in bars.
Rose Springshaper found her number, stood behind her bench, and did not look at the stands.
She knew exactly where he was anyway. Front row, Mythos section, between Cecilia and an empty seat Rachel had put her bag on. She'd felt him arrive the way you feel the sun come out from behind a cloud.
