“I think that would be all right. Although I’m not sure it will run on the Mac system, will it? But try, by all means.” He leaned toward his son, and said with an attempt at firmness: “Now, please put your things away.”

While Max trudged down the stairs to his room on the street side of the basement, Alex shed his tie and unbuttoned his collar, then started cutting up some chicken pieces. He filled Simon in on the bizarre phone call from his brother’s ex-girlfriend. It had taken some persuasion on all of their parts, but the florist—who had been about to leave for the day—had finally revealed the order number, which had subsequently been traced. They learned that Will had ordered the flowers in Chartres, on September nineteenth, at thirteen fifty GMT, so a little before three p.m. in France. What inspired him to do it then—for a date a month hence—was hard to know. Will was simply never that organized.

“It’s not that Will couldn’t be romantic, you know, Alex. It’s entirely in keeping with his spontaneous nature.” Simon, in a clearly subdued voice, was trying to persuade himself that it wasn’t extraordinary.

“It’s not exactly spontaneous, though, to send flowers for a month down the line. And they’d absolutely broken up, Simon. Will told me it was irrevocable. His physical attraction to Siân was like an addictive drug, I know, but he explained there was no heart there anymore, and there never had been that much intellectual meeting ground. I think Siân’s a smart girl, actually, but her mind isn’t trained in the same way as his, and their interests were simply different.”

Simon was in a strange mood, nodding at Alex. It tallied with what Will had told him too, over a few beers too many. “He said to me that she spent three times as much money as he did, never read any books, didn’t even want to go for a walk with him. But, maybe he had started missing her, thinking of reconciliation?”

“Of course, that’s what she’s thinking; and it’s thrown her into a spin. But I’m certain it’s not so. He always said Siân was like a beautiful, spoiled child. Used to getting her own way, used to the magnetic effect she had on men, and completely incapable of thinking deeply about anything that didn’t concern herself. Which might be a bit harsh; but her lack of awareness for the rest of life drove him to despair sometimes, and their values were seemingly worlds apart. She loved pretty things, wanted a wardrobe of Chanel and Prada—which you could hardly blame her for, as it was part of her job—whereas he always said he’d like to work for an international aid agency for a year or so.”