‘Of course you were,’ said Irene. ‘But we must put these little things behind us. I am, if anything, strengthened by the experience, Bertie. To be taken to Hungary in a container is but a small thing, Bertie. And I hear from Daddy that you were extremely brave about it all. As was Ulysses, I gather.’

Bertie said nothing. He did not think it would help to tell his mother how cheerful Ulysses had been during her absence; how he had refrained from being sick and how his appetite had improved. Life, he realised, would return to normal, which it did almost immediately. Yet not everything was unchanged by Irene’s unfortunate experience; while Irene was away, Bertie had been comforted by his father, who had promised him that as soon the crisis was over and Irene was restored, he would take his son fishing in the Pentlands. It was a long overdue promise, and Bertie was not going to forget it quickly. A few days after Irene’s return, Bertie raised the topic with Stuart, reminding him of his undertaking.

‘You promised,’ he said. ‘And you have to keep your promises, you know. Pacta sunt servanda, Daddy.’

Stuart looked at Bertie in unconcealed astonishment. ‘Where did you get that from, Bertie?’

‘It’s Latin,’ he said. ‘It means that you should keep your promises. I read it somewhere.’

‘Well, of course I shall.’

Bertie pressed home. ‘When?’

Stuart thought. He was still on compassionate leave, and in his view Bertie was entitled to a few days’ leave too. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

Bertie’s eyes widened. ‘But tomorrow’s a school day, Daddy. I have to …’

Stuart smiled. ‘That’s perfectly all right, Bertie. You can have the day off.’

Bertie’s jaw dropped. ‘Just like that?’

‘Yes,’ said Stuart. ‘Just like that. You’ve had a very difficult time, with Mummy being away.’

Bertie looked thoughtful. Yes, it had been difficult in that he had felt anxious and concerned, but in other respects … He did not like to admit it, of course, but it had been, in some respects, glorious. No yoga. No Italian. No psychotherapy.

‘So,’ Stuart continued, ‘we’ll go fishing in one of those lochs in the Pentlands.’

‘But won’t I get into trouble?’ asked Bertie.

‘No. Not at all. I’m your father, Bertie, and I take the view that you are quite sufficiently educationally advanced to take the occasional day off school. After all, there you were quoting Latin expressions to me – pacta sunt something or other – what exactly was it, Bertie?’