“There’s the little blighter,” Gerard said. “Oh, my lord.” He met the woman’s scathing face. “Lost him in the crowd.” He called down to the boy, “You must stay with me, Raj.”

“This is your child?” the woman said.

“He’s in my charge, madam. An orphan. I brought him here to treat his leprosy.”

The woman snatched her hand out of the boy’s.

“Thank you for your kindness,” he called, as she hurried away.

He took the child’s hand, and they all left the station and got into a taxi.

“Heard from Olly?” Gerard asked as it pulled out.

“America. He’s as all over the map as you are. He was in New York. Met some woman who runs a nightclub. Older than he, as usual.”

“Always lands on his feet, doesn’t he. Women love him. It’s that abandoned look. They start lactating the minute he walks into the room.”

“Raggy!” Haig laughed.

Gerard’s own laughter clenched his face like an impending sneeze but never came. It rarely did. Joy was simply unable to collect in sufficient intensity to become laughter. Gerard couldn’t stop, only stall, and if he stalled he would plummet. As he stared back out of the taxi window, a frown vaguely breached and receded in his face—clearly, joy wasn’t the only emotion at his heels. “Does Olly still have his…problem?” he said softly.

“With him for life, I should think.”

“I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.”

Haig nodded.

“Did he come back for Father’s funeral?”

Shaking his head, Haig said, “I had to tell everyone you two were too grief-stricken. Couldn’t tell them Olly had sent a note asking me to make sure they put a stake through his heart before they closed the coffin, and you sent a very expensive telegram: C STOP A STOP P STOP I STOP T STOP A STOP L STOP. I can still hear the old bastard saying it.”

The two men smiled and sat in a silence that grew heavy until Haig finally said, “I think Brenna’s worried you’re coming for the rest of your share.”

“I wouldn’t make you sell the house. God knows, though, it should have been burned with his body in it. I don’t know how you can live there.”

“Only, things are a bit tight. I lost a lot in that Italian—”

“It was the war,” Gerard cut in. “Would have made a fortune. I’ll steer you right, though. Got my fingers in a prime opportunity.”

“Brenna would kill me.”

“What Brenna doesn’t know won’t hurt you.” Gerard snatched the boy’s hand out of his mouth. “Stop that.” He had been sucking on it for days, and the skin had become raw.

The boy pointed out of the window. “Chirdiyao ka rang gharo jaisa hai.”

“What’s he say, Ger?”

“English,” Gerard said to the boy, who frowned and flapped his hands. “He’s speaking Hindi. I don’t speak Hindi.”

“Good lord, Ger. Didn’t you ever talk to his mother?”

Gerard didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. I’ve been a fool. You know, I’ve often thought that when there’s siblings they share everything out between them. Olly got all the luck with women.” Gerard pulled himself up and cleared his throat. “Brenna’s great. I don’t mean—”