Violet did not catch Chiara’s hint and seemed determined to speak about her family’s past. “Harry was quite a man. Strong and decisive––he wouldn’t stand for some of what goes on these days. He had no time for weakness.” She spoke haughtily. “I don’t know what you think of things these days, Edward. Society. Young people, they don’t have any respect for anything. Some of them seem to think they should be given everything on a plate. Nothing is for free, is it? They need to get their sleeves rolled up and work for what they want. You agree, I’m sure?”

He thought about how difficult it had been to find any money, the humiliation of the Labour Exchange, the scarcity of accommodation, the deprivations that he only managed to save himself by falling in with Joseph. He thought of it all, and decided it was better not to mention it. “I do,” he said, instead. “I think there are always opportunities if you are prepared to go out and look for them.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Quite so. Just as you have done.”

Wasn’t it ironic that Violet should agree with him when he was looking for opportunities right at this very moment? That was amusing, he thought, but, as he considered it, he suddenly felt vulnerable. Surely she could see his agenda? Wasn’t it obvious? The confidence rushed out of him and shivers of fear ran up and down his spine. He told himself that it was irrational. He had convinced them of his story and so there was no need to be afraid, no need at all. He was too clever for her, for all of them.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Violet was asking him.

“I was just thinking about my parents.” The lie slipped from his mouth without him even thinking about it.

A tray with a bottle of brandy and three glasses was delivered to the table and Edward took it upon himself to pour. They repaired to the drawing room where they enjoyed another glass each, Violet becoming increasingly mellow as she reminisced about Little Italy, Chiara smiling contentedly to herself and Edward struggling to tamp down the fear that he had said something he ought not to have said and was about to be discovered. He wished the dinner was over and that he could get back to his room. He got up from the comfortable sofa several times, taking his drink to the fireplace, fretting with a loose button on his jacket, and, when he looked into the mirror, he watched a tic jerking in his cheek. He toyed with the button for too long and the thread snapped. He slipped the button into his pocket and undid the others to obscure the damage. He felt dreadful.

Chiara rested a hand on his wrist. “Edward and Joseph are going to Paris next week,” she said.

“Is that so?”

He managed to relax again. “Yes,” he said. “It’s a birthday treat. I’m looking forward to it very much.”

“Have you been before?”

“No, never.”

“I’ve never been either,” she admitted.

“It’ll be interesting to see it now. I doubt the Germans were all that respectful.”

“You must tell me everything about it.”

“I’m hoping I might persuade Edward to take me one day,” Chiara said, smiling at him warmly. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather go.”

Chiara excused herself after the second whisky, saying she was tired and needed her sleep. She kissed Edward on the cheek, her hand brushing down the top of his arm as she leant in closer. Edward was minded to do the same but Violet wouldn’t hear it, and poured him a third drink before he had a chance to demur.

“Actually,” Violet said over a genteel sip of her whisky, “Chiara not being here gives us a chance to talk about other things. I try to keep her away from business as much as I can. Ruby Ward telephoned me this morning. He’s sold the refrigerators you collected from Honeybourne for a tidy sum. I’ll make sure that Joseph gets your cut of the profits––he can distribute it among the men.”

“That’s excellent news.”

“What did you make of the goods at the base?”

He pictured the wide storage sheds, filled with booty. “There’s a lot. It will take several trips to empty. Even if we are selective with what we take––the high value items first, then we can look at what’s left––even then, I’d estimate fifteen or twenty lorryloads of quality merchandise. Maybe more if we’re less picky.”

“And the Major?” Violet said as she lit a cigarette. “How was he?”

“There was an issue with our clearance at the gate but I think we’ve sorted that out, now. He’ll certainly see the benefits of working with us when he gets paid.”

“Tell Joseph to keep an eye on him. He’s not family. I’m not convinced he’ll be reliable.”

There it was again, that word, another reference to family. It caught like a torn fingernail. Edward was beginning to see how the Costellos were obsessed by the idea of it, that blood was the only thing that they ever really trusted. He tightened his grip around his glass. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“There was another thing,” she said. “I know my brother and I were a little short with you when we spoke about Jack Spot before, after what happened to Lennie. I hope you understand why––that we were upset.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Things have worsened since then, obviously. What happened at the Regal was awful and unnecessary. I know you have your own ideas about how we should deal with Spot, but I’m afraid they’re just not right. Soho is too hot. There’s Spot, obviously, but he isn’t the only one. There are other men, other gangs, trying to move into areas that we have traditionally controlled. The Maltese have always had their brothels but they are starting to expand East of Regent Street, and to open shops selling dirty books. New spielers and shebeens open every day. Ten years ago, we had the manpower to stop that from happening but it isn’t the same today. It’s all competition, and it makes it more difficult to bring in the same profits. And the cost of buying police support is rising––Spot wants them too, and that puts the price up. Two of our oldest friends have switched sides in the last week. Supply and demand, you see?” She smoked for a moment, her eyes fixed on Edward. “We could fight him, but it would be bloody and long and I can’t be sure that we’d win. I only fight when I know the odds are in my favour.”

“But all the business he’s taking from you?”

“We’ll wait him out.”

He felt impatient at hearing the same excuses again. “And in the meantime?”

She seemed vaguely amused at his curt response. “There are other avenues that we have started to explore. We were involved in the black market throughout the war but it’s even more profitable now than it was then. Honeybourne is a good example, but there are others. It’s criminalised whole sections of society. Housewives who pay a little extra for more cheese than they are entitled to. Extra cuts of beef slipped into the bag. Oranges and bananas selling for fifty times more than before. The goods have to come from somewhere, and we have a network of suppliers and dealers who can service the demand. Ruby isn’t the only one. We are in a fortunate position, Edward, and we’ve decided that that will be our focus from now on.”

“You’re leaving Soho for good?”

“Perhaps not for good, but for now.”

An irritation boiled in his blood that made him tremble. He was furious at her foolish inaction, and he could not hide his dismay. “That wasn’t what I meant when I told you what I thought,” he said sharply. “I said you should make Spot think you were giving up––I didn’t mean you should really do it.”

“I know what you meant,” she said, her tone growing firmer. “We decided that the old way of doing things doesn’t make sense any more. The sums don’t add up. It isn’t worth the aggravation.”

The atmosphere seemed to be cooling. Edward wasn’t sure if it was the drink, or the turn of the conversation, or the fractiousness that often came at the end of an evening, or a combination of all them, but Violet’s mood was certainly blackening. He knew he should have smiled politely, acknowledged that surely she was right, thanked her for a lovely evening and excused himself, but he did not. He felt stifled and he could not hold his tongue. “And Spot?” he said. “You’re going to just let him continue on as if nothing has happened?”