"Yes."

"And you care whether he loved you or not?"

"Must it be called love?"

"It was your own word."

"It's a very emotional term. I cared whether he thought I was a worthy person – a man – a proper person to be his son."

"Isn't that love?"

"Love between father and son isn't something that comes into society nowadays. I mean, the estimate a man makes of his son is in masculine terms. This business of love between father and son sounds like something in the Bible."

"The patterns of human feeling do not change as much as many people suppose. King David's estimate of his rebellious son Absalom was certainly in masculine terms. But I suppose you recall David's lament when Absalom was slain?"

"I have been called Absalom before, and it isn't a comparison I like."

"Very well. There is no point in straining an historical comparison. But do you think your father might have meant something more than scoring a final blow in the contest between you when he arranged his will as he did?"

"He was an extremely direct man in most things, but in personal relationships he was subtle. He knew the will would be studied by many people and that they would know he had left me obligations suitable to a lawyer but nothing that recognized me as his child. Many of these people would know also that he had had great hopes of me at one time, and had named me after his hero, who had been Prince of Wales when I was born, and that therefore something had gone wrong and I had been a disappointment. It was a way of driving a wedge between me and Caroline, and it was a way of giving Denyse a stick to beat me with. We had had some scenes about this marriage and woman business, and I would never give in and I would never say why. But he knew why. And this was his last word on the subject: spite me if you dare; live a barren man and a eunuch; but don't think of yourself as my son. That's what it meant."

"How much does it mean to you to think of yourself as his son?"

"The alternative doesn't greatly attract me."

"What alternative is that?"

"To think that I am Dunstan Ramsay's son."

"The friend? The man who was grinning at the funeral?"

"Yes. It has been hinted. By Netty. And Netty might just have known what she was talking about."

"I see. Well, we shall certainly have much to talk about when next we meet. But now I must ask you to give way to my next patient."

I never saw these next patients or the ones who had been with the doctor before me because her room had two doors, one from the waiting-room but the other giving directly into the corridor. I was glad of this arrangement, for as I left I must have looked very queer. What had I been saying?

"Let me see; we had reached Friday in your bad week, had we not? Tell me about Friday."

"At ten o'clock, the beginning of the banking day, George Inglebright and I had to meet two men from the Treasury Department in the vault of the bank to go through my father"s safety-deposit box. When somebody dies, you know, all his accounts are frozen and all his money goes into a kind of limbo until the tax people have had a full accounting of it. It's a queer situation because all of a sudden what has been secret becomes public business, and people you've never seen before outrank you in places where you have thought yourself important. Inglebright had warned me to be very quiet with the tax men. He's a senior man in my father's firm of lawyers, and of course he knows the ropes, but it was new to me.

"The tax men were unremarkable fellows, but I found it embarrassing to be locked up in one of the bank's little cubbyholes with them while we counted what was in the safety-deposit box. Not that I counted; I watched. They warned me not to touch anything, which annoyed me because it suggested I might snatch a bundle of brightly coloured stock certificates and make a run for it. What was in the box was purely personal, not related to Alpha or any of the companies my father controlled. It wasn't as personal as I feared, however; I've heard stories of safety-deposit boxes with locks of hair, and baby shoes, and women's garters, and God knows what in them. But there was nothing of that sort. Only shares and bonds amounting to a very large amount, which the tax men counted and inventoried carefully.

"One of the things that bothered me was that these men, obviously not paid much, were cataloguing what was in itself a considerable fortune: what did they think? Were they envious? Did they hate me? Were they glorying in their authority? Were they conscious of putting down the mighty from their seat and exalting the humble and meek? They looked crusty and non-committal, but what was going on in their heads?

"It took most of the morning and I had nothing whatever to do but watch, which I found exhausting because of the reflections it provoked. It was the kind of situation that leads one to trite philosophizing: here is what remains of a very large part of a life's effort – that kind of thing. Now and then I thought about the chairmanship of Castor, and a phrase I hadn't heard since my law-student days came into my head and wouldn't be driven out. Damnosa hereditas; a ruinous inheritance. It's a phrase from Roman Law; comes in Gaius's Institutes, and means exactly what it says. Castor could very well be that to me because it is big already, and with what will come into it from my father's estate it will be a very large charitable foundation even by American standards, and being the head of it will devour time and energy and could very well be the end of the kind of career I have tried to make for myself. Damnosa hereditas. Did he mean it that way? Probably not. One must assume the best. Still -

"I gave George lunch, then marched off like a little soldier to talk to Denyse and Caroline about the will. They had had a chance to go over their own copies, and Beesty had explained most of it, but he isn't a lawyer and they had a lot of points they wanted clarified. And of course there was a row, because I think Denyse had expected some capital, and in fairness I must say that she was within her rights to do so. What really burned her, I think, was that there was nothing for her daughter Lorene, though what she had been left for herself would have been more than enough to take care of all that. Lorene is soft in the head, you see, though Denyse pretends otherwise, and she will have to be looked after all her life. Although Lorene's name was never mentioned, I could sense her presence; she had called my father Daddy-Boy, and Daddy-Boy hadn't lived up to expectation.

"Caroline is above fussing about inheritances. She is really a very fine person, in her frosty way. But naturally she was pleased to have been taken care of so handsomely, and Beesty was openly delighted. After all, with the trust money and Caroline's personal fortune and what would come from himself and his side of the family, his kids were in the way of being rich even by my father's demanding standards. Both Caroline and Beesty saw how I had been dealt with, but they were too tactful to say anything about it in front of Denyse.

"Not so Denyse herself. 'This was Boy's last chance to get you back on the rails, David,' said she, 'and for his sake I hope it works.'

" 'What particular rails are you talking about?' I said. I knew well enough, but I wanted to hear what she would say. And I will admit I led her on to put her foot in it because I wanted a chance to dislike her even more than I did already.

" 'To be utterly frank, dear, he wanted you to be married, and to have a family, and to cut down on your drinking. He knew what a balancing effect a wife and children have on a man of great talents. And of course everybody knows that you have great talents – potentially.' Denyse was not one to shrink from a challenge.