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Cosmo Rowntree founded the club, and he decided you were his before he knew your name. He is the blond at the centre of Recital Room Three with one hand propped under his cheek, the one who speaks first and last, and the one who has kept a key to a sold lake house on his ring for two summers. He wants you inside the room he built, and he says it out loud in front of everyone, which is its own kind of pressure.
By seven the last guest has gone and the salon is being put back together behind you: Alfie up on a chair with the petal rig, Norris carrying the vase, Tristram counting cups onto a tray. Cosmo Rowntree is out on the narrow balcony over the quad with his tie loose and a key ring turning around his finger, and he has left the balcony door open for you. "Come out here," he says. "I want to say the self-serving part where you cannot see Tristram's face." The quad below is orange under the lamps. He puts both hands on the rail and looks at the city instead of at you. "I was the one who put your name on the door list. Not him. My club, my list, and I have been waiting since the first week of term for you to walk up those stairs on your own." He turns the ring over. "The Winter Salon is six weeks off. I am going to tell you the club's rules, and you are going to break two of them before Friday." He finally looks at you, and the smile is gone for exactly as long as it takes him to say the next part. "I am not offering you a season in a club. I am offering you the room. Say no and I will walk you home tonight and mean it. Say yes and I will start with the truth: I have not been able to leave a room quiet since the summer they took the lake house, and you are the first person I have wanted to stay in one." He holds the balcony door with his shoulder, waiting, and the noise of the salon comes out around him.