He took a wedge of notes from his pocket and handed them to Jimmy. “Cheap at half the price. This should cover it. They’ve all left town?”

“Yes.” Jimmy went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. “Straight back up north. They won’t come back down. You want a cup of tea?”

“Please. Definitely best for them they stay away. I know what Joseph is like. I’m telling you, he’ll top them if he sees them again.”

“You had any improvement with him?”

“Haven’t seen him since Paris.”

“And you’re sure this is going to help?”

The dog nudged his knee with his head and he scratched him behind the ears again. “They need me. They just need to see how much.”

50

EDWARD MOVED OUT the next day. He had waited outside the apartment until he was sure that Joseph was not there and then he had quickly packed a suitcase with his best clothes and hurried away. He took a room at a smart hotel in Covent Garden and took long walks so that he might have the thinking time to decide upon what to do. He spent hours composing a letter in his head, apologising for losing his temper and trying to make a joke out of it, but the right words would not come and he could not satisfy himself that he had found the right tone. Eventually, he sent a note on the hotel’s headed paper suggesting that they go for a drink to mend the damage that had been done. Joseph had not replied. Edward spent a sleepless night, and then a day, of pacing the hotel room while he tried to work out the best way to fix the situation. The stark contrast between his happy confidence of just a few weeks previously and his present fearfulness was awful to him. The rift with Joseph was at the forefront of his mind but he recognised clearly that he was obsessing with it so that he could pretend to ignore the other awful development: the man whom Billy had met who said he was Edward Fabian’s brother. That, he knew, was a more dangerous situation. He expected the man, or a private detective, or, worst still, the police, to come knocking at his door at any hour of the night or day. They would have questions for him and he would not have the time to prepare the right answers. The thought of it terrified him. He could neither sleep nor eat nor sit still. He seemed barely able to function at all. The whole awful situation was pure agony.

On the second day in the hotel he started to plan an escape. His luck had held for too long and now it was beginning to turn. What was to stop him making a run for it? Nothing at all. He had a decent amount of money. He could sell his car and empty his accounts and make off with it all. Where would he go? Europe seemed suddenly too hot for him but what about America? How was that? He would drive to Liverpool, sell the car there and board a transatlantic liner. What better place to make a clean break and start afresh? He had so nearly succeeded with the Costellos. Who was to say he would not be more successful the second time?

Something stopped him. He could not abandon his father again. There was also a sense of unfinished business. He did not want to run. The realisation helped him to settle his thoughts. In the end, his thoughts settled on Chiara. He wrote to invite her to London so that they might have dinner together. She replied by return, her enthusiasm obvious, saying that she would be delighted. In a postscript she admitted to feeling claustrophobic at Halewell Close and that a night out was just the tonic she needed. Edward had counted upon as much.

He checked out of the hotel and took a lease on a furnished apartment. He planned the evening carefully. He booked a table at the Ritz, went to his barber for a shave, a trim and a vibro-massage, and then picked out his best suit, matching it with a crisp new shirt and tie that he had bought for the occasion. He dressed and regarded himself in the mirror that he had hung on his bedroom wall. There was no question about it: he looked absolutely splendid. He looked, he thought, like he had money and knew how to spend it tastefully. The years had been kind to him, he thought, lending him an air of sophistication that had not been there before. He was the kind of man who looked best when he had a little money. He had worked hard to get it. It took talent to notice the right opportunities, and then skill and great patience to exploit them. He had invested time and effort in the family and he would not allow Violet or Joseph or anyone else to prevent him from getting what he deserved.

He met Chiara at the restaurant, the maitre d’ greeting them and showing them to a prime table. He slipped a pound note into the man’s hand as he shook it and went around the table to remove the chair for Chiara to sit down.

“This is a rare treat,” she said. “To be honest, I couldn’t wait to get away.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You haven’t heard about what’s happening at the house?”

“No.”

“It’s that nonsense with Jack Spot. Violet has put two of George’s best men in the gatehouse at the end of the drive. She’s worried he’s going to try and do something. She hasn’t let me out for the last week.”

“What about tonight?”

“She thinks I’m with Joseph.”

“Oh dear,” he said. “Best it stays that way––she’s not very fond of me.”

“She won’t admit it, but this whole situation is getting to her.”

There was a short pause as Edward decided how to start the conversation he knew that they must have. It was the reason that he had invited her to dinner and there was no point in delaying it but yet the thought of what she might tell him in response made it difficult to begin. He had the sense that this moment was important and, as it assumed more and more gravity, it became correspondingly more difficult to address. He started to speak and then, suddenly fearful, he stopped.

Chiara noticed his awkwardness and smiled sweetly at him. “I know about you and Joseph,” she said. “Your silly tiff in Paris.”

Edward gaped. “Have you spoken to him?” he asked anxiously.

“I have. And he feels absolutely awful about it.”

“So do I,” Edward confessed urgently. “What did he say?”

“That it was a foolish argument and that he regrets it very much.”

Edward was surprised by the sudden rush of relief that washed over him. “I wrote to him,” he said. “He didn’t reply.”

“He was still angry when you sent it. And now that he isn’t angry, he doesn’t know what to say to fix it all up and then, on top of everything else, he’s had Eve to think about.”

“Think about what?”

“Oh,” she said, blushing a little. “Of course––you don’t know.” The waiter delivered the menus and Chiara was silent. Edward found that he was avid for the news, his stomach churning as the man described the specials and until he left the table. “This is probably about as foolish as your argument,” she continued, “especially since they’ve only known each other again for half a minute, but he proposed to her the other night and she said yes.”

“My goodness!” he said.

“They’re talking about getting married at the end of the month. The service would be in the local church and then there’ll be a big party at the house.”

“It’s all very sudden.”

“I know. It’s lunacy. But it will give the two of you a chance to make it up. He’s planning a thing”––she fluttered her hand as if it were something amusingly distasteful––“with his friends. Last night of freedom, I suppose, something along those lines. I suspect it will involve all the pubs and clubs in Soho. I can’t think of anything worse but, anyway, he asked me to apologise for what happened and to tell you that you have to go.”

Edward’s mind went blank with relief. He felt the surge of his old confidence. It wasn’t too late, after all. He had made a dreadful error and yet he had not been punished for it. He had been given a second chance.