‘Tell me why you can’t go back,’ Phoebe said again. ‘You owe me that much, at least.’

April peered moodily again into her glass.

‘You don’t know my family, what they’re like,’ she said. ‘Our house, our so-called home – God! Oscar called it Château Désespoir. I only found out what it meant when I started French in school. He was older, you see, and knew what was going on far better than I did. I mean, I knew what was going on – Jesus, my father was doing the two of us, me and Oscar, taking us in turns. Then, when Daddy died, Oscar and I carried on together, continuing the grand tradition.’

‘Did he rape you?’ Phoebe asked.

April looked at her pityingly.

‘Oscar? Oscar? Ha! The other way round, if anything. Not that I wanted him, you understand. It was – obsession. I tried to explain it to you once, but of course you couldn’t understand what I was talking about. We all had it, the obsession, in that mad family. For all I know, Oscar and my mother may have been at it, too. It was like living in a rabbit warren. It all seemed perfectly ordinary to me, of course. Well, I’d never known anything different. The only thing that troubled me, really, was the secrecy – we were to tell no one, Daddy said, or Oscar and me would both end up in the reformatory.’

Phoebe cast about the room. Strafford was deep in his book, or seemed to be.

April finished her drink and set the glass down on the bar.

‘Poor Oscar,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Phoebe said. ‘Poor Oscar. You know I was there the day that he—’

April suddenly brightened, lifting her head and grinning.

‘He did it in your father’s car, didn’t he – drove off Howth Head. An Alvis, too, wasn’t it? God, how I laughed when I heard that.’ She laughed now, shaking her head. ‘He was never much of a driver, our Oscar.’

‘Oh, April,’ Phoebe murmured.

‘What do you mean, “Oh, April”? My brother is better off dead. His life was hell. Besides, Daddy had set him an example, hadn’t he. And then it kept getting worse. When the patriarch blew his brains out, and that source of torment was cut off, Oscar was left with me to deal with.’

‘Do you feel— I mean—’

‘Guilty? Why should I feel guilty? He did it to himself, I had nothing to do with it.’ She paused. ‘People like you, you have no idea. The world, this world—’ She stopped, and shook her head slowly from side to side. Then she frowned. ‘Oh, Lord,’ she said, ‘I think I’m a bit drunk.’

‘Tell me why you can’t go back. Please.’

April gave a little belch. ‘Oops,’ she said, covering her mouth with her fingers. Then she frowned. ‘What did you say?’