Zachary’s parents had died, his mother first and then his father, within the space of a few months. He had needed to come to London often when they were ill – he loved them dearly and grieved for them hugely – and then afterwards to arrange the family affairs with Max. The family affairs were on a large scale, there was a lot of money. Zachary sat up late one night with Alex and Christine, drinking vodka and discussing what he ought to do with his inheritance. Their ideas got wilder and wilder – buy a Picasso, buy an orchestra, set up a foundation to promote renewable energy. — But you don’t know anything about renewable energy, Alex reasonably pointed out. Christine thought he ought to spend it on a crumbling palazzo in Italy where they could all live together like aristocrats, growing grapes and keeping goats, making their own wine and cheese. Zachary loved the Italian idea. Or perhaps he should just change it all into cash and throw it into the wind off Tower Bridge.

— Buy a premises in the East End, Alex suggested. — Come back to live in London. Start an art gallery.

— What does Lydia think? Christine asked. — What does she want?

Between Zachary and Christine there was quite a tradition of analysing Lydia. He loved to talk about his wife, combing his fingers excitedly through the lustrous black beard which he had newly grown, idiosyncratic in those days before all the young men in art had beards. It suited him and added point to his soft face; even Lydia was resigned to it.

— You’d think she was materialistic, he said musingly. — I mean, she is materialistic. She’s awfully lazy, and she loves nice things. But I think that the idea of real money bores her. I mean, the kind that you have to do something with. It’s too much like hard work. She’d like to go on just the way we are, really, with me working at the Gagosian, the nice parties, the shopping.

— She’s quite an ascetic sort of materialist, you’re saying.

— D’you know, she is, Zachary agreed. — I really don’t think she’s interested in the power that money brings. Or any kind of power. She’s actually quite unworldly, though she doesn’t look it. The world’s only unworldly materialist.

— And are you interested, Zach, in the power that money brings?

— Aha! I’m terrified of it. But it’s exciting, isn’t it?