This seemed to awaken him. Trying, trying, he said, and turned toward her with an intense look, as if she’d just reminded him what was important. I realized that all the stuff I’d been writing was hogwash, but now I’m onto something better, much better. I think it could be really good, if only —

I’d love to read something, Lilian said.

Arthur paced back and forth in front of her, shaking his head. His cigarette ash dropped to the floor. He glanced up, startled. I wouldn’t dream of showing it, he said. God, not yet!

They say it takes a long time, Lilian said, feeling prim.

Yes, he said tightly. It does. He picked up his hat, the subject having become too distressing for him. Listen, I have to go —

You won’t wait for Gilbert?

I would, but … Arthur sat down abruptly, close to Lilian on the sofa, his knees against her knees, his fingertips white on the hat brim. I need a loan, he said.

Lilian’s gaze fell on him as it had many times before. Arthur, she said.

His head dropped. I know, he said. I know what you’re going to say. I’m irresponsible, I’m undependable. I know. Believe me, I know it better than anyone. His face hung like a dog’s in front of her. It’s only till my next quarter — I can’t ask the Pater, you know that.

I know, she said. The way their money was given could not be changed. In a small voice she said, How much do you need?

He quoted a figure, aiming his gaze at the rug.

What?

Less would do.

That’s nearly half Gilbert’s annual salary, Lilian said.

But you don’t live on his salary. Arthur turned his innocent face to her. Do you?

No, but … Lilian stood up, shaking a chill off her. Arthur looked after her, contrite, pleading. He shrugged as if to say, How much does money matter to us?

This really is the last time, she said with a firm expression. She sat down at the red Chinese desk, opened the leather book and frowned as she wrote out her brother’s name.

37 • After the crash

37 • After the crash