‘Don’t worry. I’m just grateful for your help.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t be. I’m hiding my incompetence, that’s all this is.’ She’d smiled again – it was a nice smile, he’d decided. Winsome. Not as good as Florence’s, but close. Her laugh was lighter and more confident, attractive. He’d begun to wonder what it might be like to kiss her, which he took as a small indication of his progress. ‘So let’s hear it, then,’ she’d said. ‘Your answer.’

‘Actually, I’ve got a few.’

‘Oh, that won’t do. You’d better pick a line and stick with it. He likes decisiveness in people. And he’s looking for a spark of something, too – originality – so please don’t tell him how it’s all you’ve ever wanted since you were a little boy. Let’s face it, that’s a corny reason. And it’s bullshit. No one wants to be an architect when they’re a kid.’

‘All right. That’s my answer down the toilet.’

She’d sniggered, pushed her glasses up the short slope of her nose.

‘I’m interested to know what makes you do the job, though, Alice.’

‘Yeah, nice try. As if I’m going to let you steal my answer. Took me twenty-seven years to figure out.’

‘And here’s me thinking you were in my corner.’

Her eyes had moved towards the clock. Perhaps she’d started losing patience, too. ‘You know, I think he’s going to like you, Charlie. When he finally gets here.’

The fact was, he’d been thinking of an answer to that question for the past few years and only one had ever satisfied him. He wanted to become an architect because of Joyce.

There were other motivations. For a start, the warm, pacific feeling that came over him when he was drawing. He enjoyed the way an hour could atomize and drift away while he was occupied with a design. There was the thrill he got from solving problems in his head, inventing structures on the page, discovering the best articulation of the forms that he imagined; and, above all else, the sense of purpose he woke up with in the morning when he had a project to resume. It appealed to him, to keep those aspects of his life intact and – if he could – to be rewarded for them with a decent wage. But incentives weren’t the same as reasons. He was driven to make good the sacrifices of the Mayhoods – part of everything he did now was an echo of their kindness, their example. It was vital to restore their faith in him, repay them for the opportunities they’d granted him. He was compelled by all of that. Except it wasn’t why.

‘You were right, you know, what you were saying just before,’ Alice had continued, nodding at the chandelier. ‘It’s not in keeping. But that doesn’t mean he’s compromised his principles. It’s more a kind of trade-off. He enjoys the culture of New York – he doesn’t care much for the city.’

‘Then why be here at all? I just don’t get it.’