Silas seemed preoccupied with her concern for Julian, even irritated by it. Something else was bothering him. She glanced at him, saw his bitten lip and drawn face, his struggle with a question that failed to find form, a man as articulate as Silas, suffering this stultifying awkwardness.

‘Kate?’

‘Yes?’

She had dreaded this moment for a long time. Whenever she saw Silas, she anticipated being confronted about her relationship with Mikey, although the word ‘confront’ was too strong for the way he would deal with the matter. He would probe, ask oblique questions, rationalizing on her behalf even as he proceeded to question her: ‘It was inevitable, you are attractive, he is such a sensuous young man…’

She shifted about, positioned herself resolutely, ready, she told herself, to answer his questions as directly and honestly as possible. Yes, I have been having an affair with your son, I take full responsibility, but it is over, it was a moment of foolishness, a huge mistake. Forgive me, if you can. There is no point in trying to find out why or how or where. The detail is mundane, sordid really. I hope we can stay friends, even if from a distance.

They saw the sign for the restaurant when it was almost upon them, and she had to brake sharply and make a tight turn. They were on a gravel road, and she concentrated on keeping control of the car, slowing it down, allowing the dust to settle and restore her visibility. The place was much closer to town than she had assumed.

‘Christ!’ Silas said, clinging to the sides of the seat.

They were travelling slowly now, ahead of them a serene, if rather contrived, view of trees and manicured lawns, and, in the distance, the restaurant nestling in the cool lee of a koppie. Hundreds of birds kept up a prolonged but not unpleasant chatter.

‘You wanted to ask me something?’ Kate said.

‘No, not important.’

‘Well, any time you want to ask, anything, I'm here.’

‘What are your plans for next year?’

‘Next year? I haven't even begun thinking that far ahead. I'm still in post-struggle, get-it-done mode.’

‘Good God, what does all that mean?’

‘I don't know, Silas. You wanted to know what I'm going to do when the Old Man retires?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don't think the new President will have a place for me?’

‘No. He has his own team, his own legal adviser, certainly his own intelligence adviser.’

‘All black, all returned exiles?’

‘That's too simplistic.’

‘Well, that's what people are whispering.’

He did not answer.