“But he was friendly, I hope. And you were too?”

“Yes … Yes, I was.” He was getting in so deep now, where he hadn’t meant to. Should he break down and confess? His father would probably take a strap to him, but he didn’t mind that. It was the sense of disappointment the whole thing would create. He just wished he could get his father off his back.

“So you’ll meet again?” his father said hopefully.

“I reckon so. Don’t worry, Father, we’ll see each other if we want to.”

“Oh.”

“You should just leave it between us, Father.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Don’t worry, my boy. I won’t interfere.” And with that, his father let him escape into the house.

Had he got away with it? He wasn’t sure. He knew his father didn’t see Charlie White too often, but they were sure to see each other, all the same. The best thing, he reckoned, would be to go round to Charlie White’s house the very next day, say he got the date wrong, and spend time with Sam. That would cover his tracks, pretty much, and make everything all right. And he very nearly did. But he put it off until so far into the afternoon that unfortunately, he realized, it was too late again. Same thing the next day. The third day, he was starting to put the whole thing behind him, when in the middle of the street, a cart with a red number painted on it stopped and the driver, a thickset man with a few days’ stubble, and a heavy leather coat, leaned down and asked him: “Would you be James Master?”

“I might. Who’s asking?”

“Name’s Charlie White. I had an idea you were coming round to my place the other day.”

It was his chance. He could say he was just going round. Make his excuse. Make everything right. The work of a moment. Why didn’t he take it? Because some inner resistance to the whole thing, or maybe a stupid panic at being caught, suddenly intervened. He hardly knew what it was, or why it happened. Yet he heard himself say: “Not that I know of, Mr. White. Can I do something for you?” And it was said so politely, with a voice and expression of such perfect innocence, that Charlie White was taken in.

“Nothing, young gentleman. My mistake. I must’ve gotten the wrong person.” And he whipped up his horse and drove his cart away.

So his wife had been right, Charlie thought. After all his hopes had been raised, after he’d thought his so-called friend had felt some affection for him, Master hadn’t even told the boy at all. Just left him to look like a fool in front of Sam, and humiliated him in front of his family. He’d already had to endure his wife’s studied silence on the subject. He’d seen his children looking at him with a mixture of pity and mockery. Maybe John had forgotten, or changed his mind. Whatever the cause, it showed one thing. At the end of the day, a poor man’s feelings were of no account. There was no friendship, no respect, nothing but a rich man’s contempt. There was no other explanation. And from that day, though he never knew it, John Master had a secret enemy.