The night was set for the following Friday. Edward spent an hour preparing himself, shaving and brilliantining his hair until it was neatly slicked. He hadn’t seen Chiara for a couple of days and he wanted to make a good impression. He dressed in a new suit that he had purchased earlier that day, matching it with an icy white shirt and a narrow black tie. He was polishing his shoes when Joseph emerged from his room.

“What do you think?” Joseph said.

Edward thought he looked like a prince, and told him so. His suit was sharp and his shoes were from Belgrave. The genuine Vicuna-hair overcoat over his arm cost sixteen guineas. He was wearing a tie-pin that they had seen in a Mayfair shop-window. It was set with a large pearl as big as his little fingernail, shaped like an onion, that looked like it had been blown out of a tiny bubble-pipe. The ticket had said thirty-five pounds and twelve shillings. He had put a brick through the window and had away with it.

It was a gloomy night, the fog thick and damp. Edward drove them into the East End to collect Eve from the small house she rented with a friend. She was waiting behind the door and opened it before Joseph could knock. As she carefully slid into the back of the car, Edward noticed the curtains flicking back and the face of another girl, framed in the gaslight, staring out with a mixture of anxiety and jealousy.

“Where’s your sister?” she said to Joseph, a little alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” Joseph told her.

“You said––”

“You’ll still have your virtue. She’s meeting us at the restaurant.”

They arrived at Claridges at a little after eight. The restaurant was full, with the first seating of diners coming to the end of their meals and their replacements enjoying aperitifs at the bar. Chiara was waiting for them. She kissed Edward and then her brother on the cheek.

“Goodness me,” she said. “Look at the two of you.”

There was a single empty table and it had been reserved for them. They took their seats and Edward relaxed, looking around the room at the tables full of contented diners. He turned to smile at Chiara. He noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red. And did she look a little pensive?

“Are you alright, Chiara?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been crying.”

“I’m probably worrying about nothing but––”

“Worrying about what?”

“Oh, it’s Roger. The silly old dog. He’s missing.”

“How do you mean?” Joseph said.

“Exactly that. It was bright yesterday afternoon so I let him out––he loves to lie in the sun. I watched him trot out to the lawn and settle down and thought nothing else of it. I was distracted, I can’t even remember what about, but then I realised I hadn’t heard him bark to come back in. I went outside to look. This was six by then, maybe even seven. I looked through the grounds but I couldn’t find him anywhere. I went straight across to Mr. Austin––you know how he chases his birds sometimes––but he hadn’t seen him. I got back home at ten and he still wasn’t there. And I couldn’t find him this morning, either.”

Joseph was ordering a bottle of Médoc from the waiter. “He’ll turn up,” he said when he was done.

“But what if he doesn’t? He’s an old boy now. He never stays outside on his own any more. What if something has happened to him? Maybe he was hit by a car?”

She started to cry. Eve looked worried and confused. Joseph––who could foresee the end of the evening if urgent steps were not made to rescue it––looked pleadingly across the table at Edward.

He took her hand. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of dog who’d go far. Is that right?”

“No––he never does.”

“Exactly. And so maybe he’s been shut into a shed or a barn. If you ask me, he’ll be home when you get back. And if he isn’t, I’ll drive straight down to you and we can have a proper look around. How’s that?”

“Would you?”

He smiled at her. “Of course I would.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Edward. I know it’s silly but that dog’s been with me since I was a little girl. I’ve always doted on him a little, haven’t I, Joseph?”

“You certainly have,” Joseph said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t tease me,” she said, managing a smile of her own.

Not wishing to miss the improvement in her mood, Joseph quickly seized his moment, filled their glasses and raised his. “Cheers,” he toasted. “To good friends. Let’s have a splendid night.”

* * *

A LIGHT FALL of rain had slicked the streets as they emerged outside. The fog had lifted and the clouds had moved away. A clear, open sky spread out overhead. Edward was lightly drunk. It had been a delightful evening. Joseph had been in riotous good form, dominating the table with stories from his childhood, from the war, about the host of characters he knew from The Hill. Chiara had painted the detail inside the lines of her brother’s broad strokes. They spoke about some of the characters from their childhood, friends of their father: Angelo Ginicoli, Pasquale Papa, a bookmaker called Silvio Massardo whom they called ‘shonk’ on account of the size of his nose. Joseph recounted a story of how Harry and George were trapped one night in the Fratellanza Club in Clerkenwell, and were saved from being shot by the manager’s daughter, a poor girl who was in love with Harry.

Edward was content to sit and listen, enjoying the stories, his friend’s high spirits and Chiara’s furtive glances in his direction.

The foursome made their way to Piccadilly Circus, the reflections from the advertisements stretching out across the wet pavements in long, neon stripes. A coster offered chrysanthemums at sixpence a punch and Joseph bought five shilling’s worth––practically an armful––and gave them all to Eve. She stammered out her thanks but Joseph didn’t allow her the chance to finish. He pulled her in close so that the blooms were flattened between their bodies and kissed her on the mouth, the two of them framed for a moment in the light that slanted from the window of a Cypriot café.

Chiara slipped her hand inside Edward’s and gave it a squeeze.

“Who wants another drink?” Joseph said.

Eve looked torn, keen to accede yet reluctant at the same time. The hesitation won out. “No, I’d better not,” she said. “I’m working tomorrow.”

“Then take the day off,” he said. “I’ll pay you what you would have earned.”

“No, that’s alright––it’s getting late, I’m tired and my friend will be expecting me. And I’d be letting the restaurant down, and that’s not fair. Do you mind awfully?”

“What’s the matter with you?” Joseph scowled, irritation flickering darkly. “It’s been a nice evening. Why would you want to spoil it?”

Eve could see the change in his tone, the stirring of his anger. Perhaps she remembered it from when they were younger? Chiara noticed it, too. “Leave her alone, Joseph,” she said. “I’m tired as well, it’s past midnight. Do you mind, Edward?”

“No, of course not.”

Chiara took Eve’s hand. “We can share a cab. Look––here’s one now.” She flagged the driver and he swung in to park alongside them.

Joseph had no time to react. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Eve said. “Perhaps we could do something together another time?” She added, quietly, but not so quiet that Edward could not hear her, “Just us?”

Joseph was caught between thwarted desire and anticipation. Edward knew that he was not used to being defied, especially when it came to women. Chiara had said as much: he always got his own way. Yet Eve was special and frustrating him just made him even more determined to get what he wanted. “Of course,” he said, banishing his scowl with a gorgeous smile as easily as flicking a switch. “We’ll go for dinner. Me and you. That sounds lovely. Alright?”

Eve smiled in response, relieved that she had not, after all, offended him.

They bid them farewell and got into the cab. Edward and Joseph watched until it had turned the corner.