Mangan stares at him open-mouthed and then erupts into loud laughter, slapping him on the back, causing Bram to wince since his shoulder is still tender enough to suffer under such enthusiastic treatment.

“Your memory is both unforgiving and accurate, my young friend. Come, find a perch, tell me of these paintings of yours the whole town is talking about.”

And so the three of them sit and talk of art and inspiration and the challenge of marrying the two successfully. Bram can see that Mangan has indeed aged; that his skin has sagged a little beneath his cheekbones; that his wild hair has thinned some; that the blue of his eyes has faded a tone. But the man’s inner strength, his drive and his passion, still remain. The more they talk, the more animated he becomes. Perry fulfills his usual role of supporting his mentor. Bram wonders that he is content to be always the pupil and to never, apparently, push forward his own work.

He loves Mangan, that much is clear. Perhaps it is enough, to be a part of someone else’s genius instead of striving to reveal one’s own. I’m not sure it would be for me. Not now I have rediscovered the joy of painting.

Mangan turns the conversation to Bram’s exhibition. “And now you are to have your own show, and already the art world is abuzz with excitement at this new talent. Hah! As if we did not know what you were capable of. I wish you every success, young Bram,” he says, raising his chipped teacup in a toast. “It is hard-won and well-deserved. Enjoy your opening night.”

“But you will be there to celebrate with me, naturally.”

“Ah, it is good of you to think to include me in your moment of triumph, but I fear my presence there would be … unhelpful.”

“What?”

Perry leans forward. “You see, people are still a little sensitive about the war and about what others did or did not do…”

“But surely Mangan contributed in his own way. The farm laborers were essential.”

Mangan sighs. “Alas, there are not many that will view my actions in such a kindly light.”

Perry, for once, allows his feelings of irritation and frustration to show. “It really is too bad. Even people who have for so many years adored Mangan’s work, people who know him to be a man of integrity, they have turned against him.”

“It is true. Not only because of my opposition to the war, but, well, I fear having Gudrun here placed me beyond some sort of pale.”

Bram shakes his head. “It seems to me we fought a war so that people could be free to follow their own consciences. Are some still to be hounded because of where they were born or what they believe in?”

“The war may be over,” Mangan says, “but we live in an uneasy peace.”