“Or embrace it more,” Edward suggested. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, quite.”

She turned her head, as Roger let out two or three sharp yelps. While they had been talking he had been nosing his way through the hedge at the side of the field, but now there was an agitated flapping on the other side of the hedge and he disappeared into a gap in the brambles.

“He’s going after a bird,” Chiara said. “These used to be our birds once; they’re Mr. Austin’s now, after we sold the fields and the woods to him. He won’t like it if Roger gets hold of a partridge. Roger! Come back! Come here, you idiot dog!”

The dog returned, his head dipped bashfully, his prey uncaught, and they walked on. Edward found that he had relaxed completely into Chiara’s company. She was nine years younger than him but there was a quiet, reserved wisdom about her that made her seem older. Her serenity was contagious. Edward typically felt a buzz of nervous anticipation when he was with other people, a constant background stress that derived, he knew, from the need to remember the all lies that he had told or would tell, the continual effort of recalling the correct lie for the appropriate person. He did not feel that way with her. He almost felt as if he could be himself, or at least insofar as that could ever be possible with anyone.

“Can I ask about your parents?” he said. “Joseph has never really spoken about them to me. I was wondering, since they weren’t at your party.”

She shook her head. “I suppose it’s not surprising. Father’s dead. It makes him upset––it’s upsetting for all of us, of course, but he takes it the worst. It happened while he was away.”

“Oh,” Edward said awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, really,” she said, reassuringly. “It’s quite alright.” They walked on a little as she worked out how to say what she wanted to say. “Father was killed two years ago. One of Hitler’s rockets fell on the house he was in. Rotten luck, really––it was one of the last ones they fired.”

“It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

She dismissed his apology with a shake of the head. “It’s fine,” she said. “Father was with one of his mistresses at the time. It was her house that he was in. They both died. It was too much for my mother. She left us, not that I can really blame her. Father was a bad husband and she stayed with him longer than he had any right to expect. All the other women––he always had one on the go, more than one, usually. The business, he was always out, all hours of the day and night, we never knew where he was most of the time. He tried to keep it secret but mother was always too clever for him. She knew everything. But she never left––I think she got used to the idea that he would always have more than one woman and she accepted it. They argued––she hated that other people knew about what he was getting up to but she still loved him. She knew he’d always come home to her. And I suppose, if I’m being honest, my mother got used to a certain way of life living with my father. He was generous––jewellery, fancy meals, clothes.” She pointed towards the house, the chimneys of which had just appeared over the branches of a stand of nearby trees. “She loved it here, too. He knew he treated her badly, and the presents he bought for her were his way of saying sorry. They would have stayed together for ever.”

“Joseph’s said nothing to me about any of this.”

“He’s angry with her. He thinks she abandoned us. I don’t think he’s seen her since he got back. You mustn’t bring it up. He’ll be furious I mentioned it. Do you promise?”

“Yes, of course.”

They idled onwards. “He idolised father,” Chiara went on after a short pause. “It’s why he joined the army. He could easily have gotten out of it––all of his friends did. Look at Billy and Jack, faking medical conditions. Joseph was desperate for father’s approval. The attention was always on my other brothers when we were growing up. Has he mentioned them?”

“No.”

“Stan works for the family in Manchester, John is trying to go straight and Paulie is in prison.”

“For what?”

“Oh, assault.” She relayed this dismissively, as if reporting that he had a nice, safe office job. “They were the ones father thought would follow him into the family business. He groomed them for it––he had them on the races with him early on, they were both up to their necks in it right from the off. But he never wanted it for Joseph––he told my mother once he thought he was too sensitive. There’s some truth in that. Father wanted him to go to school, get an education and a proper career––something legitimate. It drove Joseph mad. I can remember the rows they had about it like they were yesterday––Joseph’s temper, when he gets going, my goodness, you don’t want to be around when he goes off.”

“Really?”

“Awful. Frightening, actually. Father was just the same. They were alike in lots of ways.” They followed the path into the copse of fir and ash that had grown up at the foot of the house’s long gardens. “Father fought in the Great War, got a medal, too, for bravery. Then this last one came around and Joseph said he was going to enlist. Father wouldn’t have it. He said he was throwing his life away. They had the biggest argument I can remember––father ended up hitting him and I thought Joseph was going to hit him back. It took Stan and John to keep them apart. After that, the first chance he got to sign up, he took it. You know he lied about his age?”

Edward said that he did not.

“He was sixteen when he went away. He’s always been a big lad, I’m not surprised he managed to fool them. He didn’t tell any of us about it. He just went.”

They walked on in silence, the house appearing as they passed through the last trees.

“And then when he got back father was dead. I can’t imagine how badly he must feel about it now––the last time they saw each other––the argument they had––and then to come back and the first thing you find out is that your father has died and you never had the chance to make it all up. It’s all horrible. This nonsense he’s got himself into now, with Billy and Jack, whatever it is they’re doing––it’s because of father.”

“Trying to prove him wrong.”

“Yes, indeed,” she nodded. “And trying too hard. His judgment… my brother is not an idiot, Edward, he’s cleverer than you’d think, I just think that in certain instances his judgment is wanting.” They crossed the scruffy ornamental lawn and stepped over the low hedge onto the gravel drive. “Well, here we are again.”

“That was very pleasant,” Edward said. “Thank you.”

She smiled, a broad and happy smile that showed her perfectly white teeth. It made Edward smile, too. “You must stay for lunch,” she insisted, her eyes glowing with an optimism that Edward thought made her look even more attractive. “I told the cook to prepare a picnic. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me? We could have it on the lawn?”

“That would be lovely,” he said, and he could see from her little smile that she had been hoping that he would say yes, that she had been looking forward to lunching with him.

Chiara fetched a picnic blanket from the house and went back inside to speak to the chef. Edward took the blanket and spread it out across the lawn. He sat down and stretched his legs. He was satisfied with himself. The morning had been a complete success. He felt that he had gathered important information about the family and that he had brought himself into Chiara’s confidence. That pleased Edward most of all. He knew how useful it would be to have her as an ally. It would be another source of information and, if he developed their relationship with the right amount of care, then it would offer other ways of improving his influence within the family.

Yes, he thought. His satisfaction was justified for he really was making great progress. This talent of his was the only thing that he had ever been good at, but he knew that he was very good at it. He wanted to make himself part of the family and he knew now, for sure, that that was a realistic goal, if he kept working hard at it.