Having established that they should meet, we discussed when would be the best time to broach the subject gently with Francis. If we talked to him in the morning we risked one of his petulant rages, as he would certainly be either hung-over or coming down. If we talked to him at lunch or in the evening we could count on a better mood, but he might claim not to remember the conversation the next day, and his claim might be nothing less than the truth. In the end we decided that Jessica would raise it with him at the last possible minute, just after lunch on the day in question, capitalizing on the faded bonhomie that still characterized his early afternoons without risking the conversation to the next day’s oblivion. Whilst she marshalled him, I was to pick up his half-brother, and the four of us were to rendezvous at the Eagle.

I waited to meet Jeremy’s train at Cambridge station, and greeted him awkwardly when he arrived. I had not known how to clarify the situation for him, to tell him that though Francis was to be informed of his visit, I could not guarantee that he would come to meet him. In the end I decided that there was no point in telling him at all; if Francis decided to come I did not want the fact that he might have stayed away hanging over them, and if he didn’t then it didn’t matter anyway. I would simply explain after the fact.

I took him to the Eagle. It was a ten-minute walk from the station, and we ran out of small talk early on and travelled in an uncomfortable silence. The sky swelled with clouds, and I had brought an umbrella from my room.

The meeting was scheduled for three o’clock. I knew they would be late, so I bought Jeremy a gin and tonic despite his polite insistence that he be allowed to pay, and settled down to wait with him on the wooden benches by the snug. He was deeply anxious, though I suspected the source of his discomfort was as much the thought of disappointing his father in a crucial mission as the prospect of seeing Francis. I could imagine his father, who so often passed him over in matters of importance, calling him into an oak-panelled study and laying weight across his shoulders one word at a time, until he stumbled out under the pressure. I sensed that the drink was not his first of the afternoon, and he drained it quickly, then sat staring at the empty glass. When I at last asked him if Lord Soulford’s attitude towards his son had softened, the worry, the alcohol and the English imperative to fill an awkward silence all conspired to make him talk with a frankness I had not expected.