With a chuckle, Clarke leaned against the wall. “To be honest, my place isn’t much better. Just more cluttered with what my mother would deem rubbish if she saw it.”

After locking the window, Zivon grabbed his hat and shrugged into his jacket, then met Clarke with a smile. “Ready.”

“Excellent.”

They said nothing more until they were on the street, walking to the tube station. But given the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the corners of Clarke’s lips, Zivon could guess about what his friend was thinking. Or rather, about whom. “You and the younger Miss Blackwell seemed to enjoy your walk yesterday.”

Clarke shot him a look not dissimilar from the one Evgeni had sent him twelve years ago, when Zivon had teased him about having a crush on Tatiana from across the street. “I might say the same about you and the elder Miss Blackwell. Or at least . . .” The smile flipped into a frown. “I didn’t force you to give attention to her against your will, did I? I didn’t mean to monopolize Miss Ivy’s attention. Not that Miss Blackwell isn’t a lovely young lady too, of course, but if I’ve—”

Zivon’s laugh cut him off. “You worry needlessly, my friend.”

Relief as obvious as the rain clouds washed over Clarke’s face. “Oh good. That’s neat and tidy, then, isn’t it? If you prefer her and I her sister?”

From Clarke’s point of view, it certainly would be. If he intended to court Miss Ivy, then no doubt it would be most convenient if Zivon were simultaneously occupying the attentions of her sister. But Zivon knew well his hesitation showed in his every movement, not to mention on his face.

Clarke sighed. “I thought you liked her.”

“I do. Very much. It is not that at all.” He focused his gaze on the sidewalk ahead, trying to rid his mind of her shining hair, that sunshine-and-clouds knowledge in her eyes. The utter sincerity in her voice as she promised to pray for Evgeni.

How to explain to this new friend all the reasons that now was not a good time to seek an involvement with a young woman? A young English woman?

For a long moment, the only sounds were those of the city. Then Zivon sighed. “I would not have any idea how to go about such a thing.”

“Oh, come now.” Chuckling, Clarke gave his shoulder a little shove. “It can’t be that different here than it was in Russia, can it? You like a girl, you spend time with her, maybe write her a note now and then or bring her a small gift. Before the war, I’d have said chocolates, but these days . . .”

Zivon slid his hand into his pocket, where his watch ticked steadily on. Time, ever moving. Ever escaping him. Running out. “You make it sound simple.”