The banquet room was airplane-hangar size, carpeted in deep red, with a thirty-five-foot domed ceiling. A raised bandstand with chairs for a twenty-piece orchestra was in place at one end, next to a stage with a long table for dignitaries and an oak podium for the speakers.
She felt the gazes of men as she walked to a reserved table, her arm interlocked with Michael’s. To one side she saw Catherine in an off-the-shoulder pale-gray full-length gown with white trim that she had seen in her closet earlier. It seemed perfect for the evening. Catherine’s shoulder-length black hair glinted with reflections from the room’s seven-tiered crystal chandelier.
Mike led Rosie to a table where two other surgeons and their wives were seated. Catherine sat with Clayton at a dignitaries’ table, and Rosie had no chance to talk to her. But she smiled when Catherine saw her, and felt an almost conspiratorial warmth when Catherine gave her an approving nod.