He looked at his watch, and felt it was now a bit late to be calling Anna in England to confirm his arrangements about picking up their son next morning; but he wanted to try his father once more in spite of the hour. He hit the speed dial and waited: then was a little thrown to get the answering machine again. It was a Saturday night, and Alex had expected to find his father still sitting up, talking to Will.

He frowned a little, and left a second message in a quiet voice. “Dad, I’ve no idea if you got my earlier message—my cell phone isn’t roaming properly here and I can’t pick up my own voice mail. But assuming you did, you’ll know the conference overran last night and we never made the flight. A few of us stayed with one of my colleagues at his house in New Jersey for the night, but I’m at Kennedy now and the flight’s on time. Sorry for the changes, but I’ll still make lunch tomorrow. I had a call from my secretary so I have one small detour to make to Harefield; but the car’s at Heathrow and I’ll get Max from Anna’s on the way down. We’ll be there by noon.” Alex broke off for a moment, sorry not to be able to talk to a person instead of a machine. He smiled, and slightly changed the tone of his voice. “Hey, Will, I think you got back today or yesterday, and you two are probably out for a late dinner? See you both tomorrow. Max and I have missed you. Save me a glass of good wine! Sleep well.”

Alex had stayed wide awake, hoping to have a quick word with his brother; but now he noticed exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm him. He’d been on the go for four unbroken days with late social nights, and he dreaded the overnight flight. He couldn’t sleep on planes, from an ingrained habit of being a light sleeper at work. Long years of night shifts and eighteen-hour days as a houseman had permanently inured him to deep dreams, and he only ever dozed, listening out for every noise. But he was grateful for the comfort of a business-class seat, and the food and movies would be something of a substitute for proper rest.