She asked me, “So what will you do? Will you go to Rome?”

Lou had suggested that, but I still wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. It seems like a big commitment—”

“—to a project that might be completely wacko. But it might be the only way you’re going to be able to clear this up, if you’re serious about it.”

“I’m serious. I think. I don’t know.”

“Same old same old. George, you’re a good man. But you’re so fucking indecisive. You blow with every breeze.”

“Then you were right to kick me out,” I said.

We walked in silence for a while.

Plaque four was at the back of an office building—we had to be bold enough to walk into private grounds—where we found a sloping glass frame, like a low greenhouse, set over a trench in the tarmac. A section of the wall was exposed, twenty feet deep under the glass, through which we peered. We couldn’t see the lower section, the Roman bit, because the office workers in their dungeon below had stacked boxes and files against it.

I was the first to say it. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I’m really not sure I need advice right now. My family may have been something of a screwup, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past. And now it’s gone—Gina’s fled about as far as she can go—and all I’m left with is . . .”

“This loose end. Which you can’t resist tugging. Well, I think you should go. Let’s face it, the death of a parent is as big a loss as either of us is ever likely to face. I think you should take some time to get through it. And if this sister thing is an excuse to do that, fine. Go to Rome. Spend some lira.”

“Euros.”

“Whatever.”

“I was sure you’d try to stop me.”

She sighed. “Listening is just one of the skills you never acquired, George.” She touched my hand; her skin was warm and comfortable. “Go. If you need anything just call.”

“Thanks.”

“Now let’s finish this stupid walk.” She marched on.

We passed out of the City area and came down Cooper’s Row, passing under the rail line into the tourist-oriented area close to the river, and the Tower. We passed through the Tower Hill underpass by the Tube station entrance, peered at the ruin of a robust-looking medieval gate, and then walked back through the subway to where a sunken garden at the northeast corner of the underpass contained the statue of an emperor—and, ironically, right at the end of the walk, the best-preserved section of wall we’d seen all day.

We sat on a bench and sipped our water.

“One more tick for your little book,” Linda said, not too unkindly.