IT WAS A STOUT LITTLE HOUSE, with a wrought-iron gate and a fine flight of steps rising to a white door. Potted flowers bloomed in the tiny forecourt, and in the drawing room window a light burned. The curtain was parted a few inches; through the gap Gabriel could see a man, Dr. Robert Keller, upright in a wing chair. He was reading a broadsheet newspaper. Gabriel could not discern which one because rain streaked the car windows and a pall of cigarette smoke clouded the interior. Keller had been smoking without a break since Gabriel had collected him from a street corner in Holborn, his temporary London address. Now he was staring at his father’s house as though it were the target of a close-observation surveillance operation. Gabriel realized suddenly that it was the first time he had ever seen Keller nervous.

“He’s old,” he said finally. “Older than I imagined he’d be.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Then I suppose it won’t matter if we just sit here for a minute or two.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

“What time is your flight?”

“It’s not important.”

Gabriel cast a discreet glance at his wristwatch.

“I saw that,” said Keller.

In the window across the street, an elderly woman was placing a cup and saucer at the elbow of the man reading the newspaper. Keller turned away—in shame or anguish, Gabriel could not tell.

“What’s she doing now?” asked Keller

“She’s looking out the window.”

“Did she make us?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is she gone?”

“She’s gone.”

Keller looked up again.

“What kind of tea does he drink?” asked Gabriel.

“It’s a special blend he gets from a man in New Bond Street.”

“Maybe you should join him.”

“In a minute.” Keller crushed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.

“Must you?”

“At this moment,” said Keller, “I most definitely must.”

Gabriel lowered the window a few inches to vent the smoke. The night wind blew rain against his cheek.

“What are you going to say to them?”

“I was wondering whether you had any suggestions.”

“You might start with the truth.”

“They’re old,” said Keller. “The truth might kill them.”

“Then give it in small doses.”

“Like medicine,” said Keller. He was still staring at the house. “He wanted me to be a doctor. Did you know that?”

“I think you mentioned it once.”

“Can you imagine me as a doctor?”

“No,” said Gabriel. “I cannot.”

“You didn’t have to say it like that.”

Gabriel listened to the rain drumming on the roof.

“What if they won’t take me back?” asked Keller after a moment. “What if they send me away?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“Yes.”

“They’re your parents, Christopher.”