“You never mentioned him.”

“We don’t get on. I haven’t seen him for years. What else did Billy say?”

“Not much. He said this fellow had seen your picture in the paper––that story that you did about the showroom. He wants to see you.”

Edward felt weak and helpless and before he could do anything to prevent it his mind was picturing policemen waiting for him on the runway when they disembarked at Northolt. He forced himself to calm down. He was running ahead of himself. He began to plan his story and then what he would have to do when he returned. He would need to rehearse it all in his head, a hundred times over so that it became substantial, and that therefore he would have to believe it himself. He had a brother but they were estranged. He hadn’t seen him since before the war and he had no idea what he wanted now. He would have to meet him and find out. It was nothing unusual. Family business, the sort that all families have.

“Are you alright? You’ve gone pale.”

“It’s my stomach,” Edward explained. “I must’ve eaten something bad.”

“Those oysters,” Joseph suggested. “French rubbish. I told you they were a bad idea.”

* * *

THEY HAD ONE MORE DAY before their return flight at eight o’clock. Edward was determined to spend it well. He had tried to put the news of the previous night out of his mind. There was no sense in worrying about it now and Joseph had not mentioned it again.

They checked out of the pension and took a taxi to the Eiffel Tower, walked to the Hôtel Royal des Invalides, and then spent two hours wandering the Champs-Elysées, pausing at the luxury shops and eventually stopping at a café with tables that spilled out onto the pavement. The Arc de Triomphe was blindingly white in the harsh sunlight. They ordered Americanos and croissants. Joseph had been quiet that morning, a little reserved, and Edward had the unshakeable feeling that whatever it was that had come between them was about to reach its inevitable conclusion. He did not wish to precipitate it but he could not stand the pensive atmosphere. “Is everything alright?” he said, trying to be cheerful.

Joseph hesitated. “There’s something I want to say, Doc––and I hate to say it if it’s going to cause any fuss.”

Edward went cold. “Well, I won’t know until you tell me what it is.”

He looked uncomfortable. “I was thinking that perhaps we should look at getting our own places.” He paused, a quizzical expression on his face that Edward ignored, forcing himself to stare blankly out into the busy street. “It’s been great fun,” he went on, choosing his words carefully, “but it was only ever going to be a short-term thing, wasn’t it? Until you had enough money to stand on your own two feet. And you do now, don’t you? You’ve done well out of all this.”

He reply was a curt, “Yes, of course.”

“Don’t be like that. Wouldn’t you rather get your own place? A bit more space to breathe?”

“Isn’t this all a bit sudden?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days.”

“I can’t say that I have. I thought you were enjoying living together?”

“I have enjoyed it. But I’m getting more serious with Eve, now. It’s not fair on her, bringing her back and you’re there in the flat. You can see that, can’t you? She needs a bit of privacy. I suppose we both do.”

“I’ll start to look around then.”

“Doesn’t have to be right away. Take a couple of days to find somewhere nice.”

A couple of days, Edward thought bitterly. How generous! “No, I’ll start when we get back. You’ve obviously made up your mind. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“Don’t be like that, Doc. There’s something else that’s made me think about this. I’d rather we kept it between us for now, but I’m thinking of proposing.”

“Proposing?” he spluttered. “You’ve only been seeing her for a few months.”

There was hurt confusion on his face. “What difference does that make?”

“Each to his own, I suppose.”

“What does that mean? Oh, never mind––I was going to get the ring out here. I thought maybe you could help?”

It was a bit late to draw the sting, Edward thought. “I don’t know.”

Joseph grimaced a little. Edward watched him in the reflection in the café window and knew there was still worse to come.

“While we’re at it, I’m afraid you’ve upset my aunt. I told you not to go on at her, about Spot and how they’ve chosen to do things, didn’t I, but she says you gave it to her when you went down to the house last week.”

“I didn’t ‘give it to her,’ as you say,” Edward protested with a laugh that sounded horribly false. “She brought the subject up and told me what she proposed to do about it. I told her I didn’t agree. It was perfectly civilised, no more than that.”

“She didn’t see it that way. Her temper––”

“I was trying to be helpful, Joseph. I happen to think she’s making a mistake. You agree with me, I know you do.”

“I don’t know what I think, so I’ve no idea how you’d presume to know.”

“I don’t see how I can be responsible if someone misinterprets what I say.” The sense of frustration was agony to Edward. He forced himself to concentrate on the bitter coffee, trying to wrestle back some equanimity. He looked across the table: the annoyance was evident in Joseph’s face, and Edward knew that he was irritated with his presuming to know best, even though Edward knew that he was right. He wanted to explain himself better, wanted to show Joseph that he was right, break through the suspicion and reluctance so that he would understand and they would feel the same way. “I wish you could see my point of view,” he said. “Doing nothing is the worst thing that you could do.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Joseph retorted angrily. “On and on and on. Jesus, Doc, you want to listen to yourself sometimes! You’ve only been involved for a few months, you don’t know Soho, you don’t know my family and you don’t know Jack Spot. You don’t really know anything and despite that you seem to think you know best about everything. I’m starting to think it was a bad idea asking you to get involved in the first place.”

His expression had changed quickly from confusion to blackened anger. Edward had seen that switch in him before. His temper was finely balanced at the best of times, teetering between precipitous extremes: his good nature could curdle to fury before you knew where you were and it was frightening to see. Edward knew he should stop before he made things worse, but he could not. The frustration had been building in him for days until it was like an ache in his stomach. He should have said, “Alright, Joseph,” to put an end to it, to tell Joseph he understood, that he knew he was being presumptuous and that he would keep his own counsel from now on, that they could move past their disagreement. But he couldn’t say that, he just couldn’t.

Joseph paused, and calmed his temper. They had bought a packet of French cigarettes that morning and he tore it open. He gave one to Edward and reached across to light it for him. Edward felt in the grip of an enervating weakness, as if his knees would buckle and he would fall to the ground. It was all too much to bear: his failure, Joseph’s attitude, the fact that he obviously hated him. Edward suddenly saw it for exactly what it was. They were not friends, and they never had been. He did not know Joseph, not really. They had met, briefly, far away, drunk on whisky and elation at the end of the war. Burma and India were all they had in common, the only memories that were special to them, and, even then, those memories were limited to a drunken brawl in a bar and a drunken carouse afterwards. Those memories were fading fast, like photographs that had been left out in the sun. It was too much. He looked around at the café, at the tourists gathered at the tables and booths. He felt surrounded by strangeness, by hostility. He could see what would happen. It was all so awfully obvious. Only yesterday Joseph had said, “Are you planning a holiday soon” in an offhand way in the middle of a conversation, and now that made sense. So terribly transparent. Joseph and the rest of the family would very quietly, very politely, leave him out. Every convivial thing that they would say to him from now on would be an effort for them. It would all be insincere and Edward couldn’t bear to imagine it.