“Here’s the man himself,” one of the men said, fixing Joseph in a hug.

Joseph did the honours, introducing Edward as his “mucker from the jungle.” Tommy Falco and Jack McVitie took his hand in turn. Edward guessed that they were a little younger than him, twenty-five or twenty-six, and they both looked wide. Falco was the kind of fellow it would be difficult to forget: big, a muscular man with an expression of brutal simplicity on his face and so much oil on his hair that it almost looked grey. His eyes were prominent, with fair lashes and eyebrows, which made him look perpetually surprised. McVitie was marked by a hat he wore to conceal his thinning hair. It looked out of place, and suggested bad manners, but he showed no inclination to remove it and no-one seemed to mind. He had a strange face, blunt-featured, compact and muscular; a well-constructed, useful-looking face, handsome in spite of the short blunt nose and out-thrust jaw. The two had a relaxed, jaunty confidence, and both were dressed in lovely suits that most certainly were not off the ration. The same could be said of Billy Stavropoulos. He smiled broadly for Joseph but as he saw Edward the expression faded from his face and he gave a nod of dour acknowledgement instead.

The three were already in boisterous good spirits that came, Edward quickly realised, from drink. He felt the fluttering of anxiety again. They were already ahead of him, and relaxed because of it. He knew that if he wanted to take his opportunity he would have to impress. To do that, there was nothing else for it: he would have to catch up, and quickly, and yet there was a careful balance to strike since he could not allow himself to get blind drunk. A waiter appeared with martinis and Edward took one, taking a sip as he looked up at the ceiling, reminding himself that he was quite capable of manipulating people like this. Tonight might be a test of his patience––they were vulgar, with coarse manners and bawdy jokes, and certainly not the type of people that Edward would have chosen to associate with––but the potential was worth the tedium of working them.

The birthday meal was to be held in the Great Hall. It was a large, plush space, decorated with mirrors held up by gilt caryatids. The ceiling was covered in rococo curlicues and a large, elaborate candelabra dripped down. Again, though, were the signs of neglect: there were cobwebs in the candelabra and the wallpaper on the walls was peeling and stained, here and there, by patches of damp.

Edward was in something of a daze as he sat. Two waiters brought out the starter: four large scallops shaped like top hats, sliced into disks and with the overlapping slices arranged like the petals of a flower with an even bigger slice in the centre. It was delicious. He had enjoyed a couple of gins by this stage and was starting to feel a little less self-conscious. Billy Stavropoulos was as truculent as ever, but the others were not as awful as they might have been. Edward had McVitie on the left and Falco on right, with Joseph on the opposite side of the wide table, opposite him. Billy sat next to Joseph.

“Joseph says you’re an educated man,” McVitie said.

“Well, I went to University. Does that count?”

“He’s being modest,” Joseph said. “He’s a bloody genius––a Doctor.”

“That so?”

“I’m certainly not a genius. But he’s right that I studied Medicine. What do you both do?”

McVitie chuckled until Joseph gave him a meaningful look.

“What?” Edward pressed, smiling nervously at the private joke.

“Salvage,” McVitie said.

“And me,” Falco added.

“What––scrap metal?”

“That kind of thing.”

The main course was brought out: a galantine of duck and foie gras. Edward’s kitchen skills were rudimentary but even an old hand like Jimmy would have been impressed by the gastronomy.

Edward leaned over towards Joseph. “This food––where’s it from?”

“A friend of the family.”

“Kosher?”

“Not strictly. Let’s just say he’s into buying and selling.”

“A spiv?”

“He’d call himself an entrepreneur.”

“But it’s the black market?”

Joseph grinned. “He owed my Aunt a favour. Pulled out the stops for us. You’re working for him.”

“Ruby Ward?”

“He buys and sells a lot of different things. It’s not just cars.”

“Wherever it came from, it looks delicious.”

Edward sliced into the duck. The cross-sectional cut revealed layers of pink meat alternating with meltingly tender foie gras that had been moulded and pressed into the shape of a perfect cylinder. It tasted beautiful.

McVitie spoke up: “What was it like in Burma?”

“Hot,” Edward replied.

“I’ll say,” Joseph agreed.

“And now this,” McVitie said, gesturing toward the window, rain lashing against the glass. “Welcome to summer!”

“It makes a change, that’s for sure.”

“What about the Japs?” Falco asked.

“They were vicious,” Joseph said.

“I remember when it all started, the papers were saying it’d be over in a month.”

Edward warmed to the subject. “No-one took the Tojos seriously,” he said. “Everyone thought a couple of victories and they’d fall over. It didn’t happen like that.”

“Were you there at the start?”

Edward said that he was. “The early days were brutal––defeat after defeat. It took four years to turn the tide.”

“Just as I arrived,” Joseph grinned. “I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

Falco looked impressed. “Joseph said you got a medal.”

Edward shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“No point going on about it, then,” Billy said dismissively.

“Put a sock in it, Bubble,” Joseph said, punching him on the shoulder. “Come on, old man, you have to tell us what happened. I still don’t know. He won’t say.”

That was a story that would require a careful telling. Before Edward could begin, George Costello tapped his knife against his glass and the conversation petered away. Slightly relieved, Edward turned his attention to the head of the table. He had blithely assumed that George would deliver the speech in the absence of Chiara’s father, but he remained seated as Violet stood instead.

“Family, friends––thank you for coming. Now, as you may have heard, it is my niece’s twenty-first birthday today. As you know, her father, my brother, isn’t with us any longer and so it falls to me to say a few words.” Violet gave a short history of Chiara’s life, a few badly phrased jokes that drew compliant laughter from the audience. “Anyone who knows her will tell you that she’s always been a headstrong one. I remember, when she was just a girl, how she wouldn’t do what her parents wanted. The Italians among us will know what I am talking about––my brother and his wife gave all of their children two Christian names: one Italian, one English. It was just as you’d expect––the Italian to help them remember their history, the English to help them fit in. Chiara was supposed to be known as Clarissa, but even as a five year old she refused to answer to it. It hasn’t changed––the last person who tried to call her Clarissa got the rough side of her tongue for their cheek.” The diners chuckled, some of them exchanging glances of recognition. “But you can hardly blame her for being proud of her roots,” Violet continued, “it’s a shame more of us don’t share it––but that’s a subject for another day.” She picked up her glass from the table. “Chiara has become a beautiful young woman. We’re all very proud of her. Now then––raise your glasses for a toast. To Chiara.”

“Chiara!” the guests repeated lustily.

Violet resumed her seat and, next to her, Chiara kissed her lightly on the cheek. Edward saw her mouth thanks into her ear.

Joseph excused himself from the table. McVitie reached across the table and swiped a full bottle of wine. He gestured towards Edward’s empty glass. “Refill, Doc?” Edward had started to feel quite drunk but his half-hearted resistance was ignored. McVitie poured so much that it spilled over the rim. “Cheers.”