“It certainly seems to give him a false sense of what he can achieve!” You do nothing to hide your exasperation. “Even his idea of going to Spain is only a stepping stone—a way of gaining firsthand military experience, which he can then use in a more grandiose scheme!”

“But he still has another year to run on his contract . . .” So far in his letters Julian’s comments about Spain have been hypothetical. You realize my alarm.

“Do you remember the war games he and Quentin used to play when they were little? That’s what his letters remind me of now. The frustrations of a small boy dressed up as military strategy. Did I ever tell you about the last time he came here? I was on my own and as I looked down the stairs into the hall I saw a strange man. I called down and asked who it was, and it was only when he looked up that I saw it wasn’t a strange man at all—just Julian wearing an enormous hat. He never did care how he dressed. He wanted a phone number—I can’t remember whose—and I invited him to come up and have lunch with me. He shook his head and muttered something about having too much to do, though I could tell he was pleased to be asked. Afterward it occurred to me that this was the crux of the problem: how does a young man surrounded by a family who adores him ever succeed in breaking free?”

“Did he tell you he’s having an affair?” I ask suddenly. You grin.

“Well then that’s good, isn’t it? I know how much you and he mean to each other but at some point he has to live his own life.”

I stare at my hands. The nails are rough and split though I have done no work today.

“When he first went to China I missed him terribly. Then his letters started arriving. They seemed to give him back to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong in writing . . .” you begin. For once I do not wish to be exonerated, and I press on with my point.

“I do see that I’ve hung on to him too hard. I wanted the best for all my children, but perhaps especially for Julian. He was my firstborn. Sometimes I think that everything I do ends up damaging them. It’s as if I can’t see them as separate people—only as part of myself. The best part.” I let my hands drop to my lap. You gaze at me in silence for a moment.

“The fact that he’s involved with another woman suggests you haven’t damaged Julian all that much.”

I shake my head.

“It isn’t a real relationship. None of his affairs are. She’s the wife of his professor.”

“Does he know?”