“I don’t find it particularly hot. I believe the food is the type served in North India where it’s less hot than in the south, but ask Rahim. Are you averse to spices?”

“I was averse to that beef curry, but I’ll reserve judgement till I’ve eaten the real thing. You order.”

Aaron did so for them both, requesting a couple of bottles of Bass. He waited until those arrived, along with a plate of fried battered vegetables and some pickles and chutneys, before saying, “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“No, nor was I,” Joel said. “Actually I’d concluded some days ago that you were welshing on me, and had decided to tell you where to stick your dinner if you did ever trouble to get in touch.”

“Oh.”

“Then I thought, perhaps you’d fallen under an omnibus and were lying in a hospital bed. Clearly you aren’t, which is disappointing on the face of it. But since you telegraphed, and you owe me a meal, I thought I’d give you a chance to tell me how terribly busy you’ve been and why it was completely impossible to fulfil your obligations in a timely fashion.”

“You don’t hold back, do you?” Aaron said.

“Not usually. Do we eat these?”

“It’s the usual practice. Try them with the green sauce.”

Joel did. His eyes widened. “God. That’s delicious.”

“Try the others.”

Joel launched into the chutneys. “I might forgive you if it’s all this good,” he said after a few moments. “So have you been terribly busy?”

“I’ve been having hell’s own time,” Aaron said, and he didn’t manage to match Joel’s light tone at all.

Joel paused, fork in hand. “The thing you talked about?”

“Yes.”

“Not good?”

“Not good at all. It’s— Never mind. I didn’t invite you here to listen to me complain.”

“All right, but, since you raise it, why did you invite me?” Joel said. “Settling your debts? Because I’d resigned myself to our last meeting being our last meeting, and I’m intrigued what you’re hoping for now.”

“I don’t have an ulterior motive, if that’s what you mean,” Aaron said stiffly.

“Ulterior motive? God above. I’m not a fainting lady from the nineteenth century.”

Aaron inhaled deeply. “I don’t expect anything from you. My situation hasn’t changed. I owed you a meal, that’s all.”

“That’s all. Right. Glad I bothered.”

Joel could be making this easy and pleasant if he wanted to. For God’s sake, Aaron wanted to say, I invited you, is that not enough of an olive branch?

Maybe it wasn’t.

“I owed you a meal,” he repeated, “and I wanted your company.”

“Did you.”