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without enough confidence to be an actor. While Fiona displayed all the characteristics of elder children: stability, confidence, intellect in abundance, and that cold reserve with which to judge all the shortcomings of the world.

      ‘Yes, Tess. What Bernie says is right.’

      ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said. ‘I can’t promise anything. But I’ll tell you this: if I am able to keep your name out of it and you let me down by breathing a word of this conversation to anyone at all, including that father of yours, I’ll make sure you and he and anyone else covering up are charged under the appropriate sections of the Act.’

      ‘Thank you, Bernie,’ said Tessa. ‘It would be so rotten for George.’

      ‘He’s the only one I’m thinking of,’ I said.

      ‘You’re not so tough,’ she said. ‘You’re a sweetie at heart. Do you know that?’

      ‘You ever say that again,’ I told Tessa, ‘and I’ll punch you right in the nose.’

      She laughed. ‘You’re so funny,’ she said.

      Fiona went out of the room to get a progress report on the cooking. Tessa moved along the sofa to be closer to where I was sitting at the other end of it. ‘Is he in bad trouble? Giles – is he in bad trouble?’ There was a note of anxiety in her voice. It was uncharacte‌ristically deferent to me, the sort of voice one uses to a physician about to make a prognosis.

      ‘If he cooperates with us, he’ll be all right.’ It wasn’t true of course, but I didn’t want to alarm her.

      ‘I’m sure he’ll cooperate,’ she said, sipping her drink and then looking at me with a smile that said she didn’t believe a word of it.

      ‘How long since he met this Russian?’ I asked.

      ‘Quite a time. You could find out from when he joined the chess club, couldn’t you?’ Tessa shook her glass and watched the bubbles rise. She was using some of the skills she’d learned at drama school the year before she’d met George and married him instead of becoming a film star. She leaned her head to one side and looked at me meaningfully. ‘There’s nothing bad in Giles, but sometimes he can be a fool.’

      ‘I’ll have to speak to you again, Tessa. You’ll probably have to repeat it all to an investigating officer and write it out and sign it.’

      She placed a finger on the rim of her glass and ran it round a couple of times. ‘I’ll help you on condition you go easy on Giles.’

      ‘I’ll go easy,’ I promised. Hell, what else could I say?

      Dinner was served on the Minton china and the table set with wedding presents: antique silver cutlery from Fiona’s parents and a cut-glass vase that my father had discovered in one of the Berlin junk markets he visited regularly on Saturday mornings. The circular dining table was very big for three people, so we seated ourselves side by side, with Tessa between us. The main course was some sort of chicken stew, the quantity of it far too small for the serving dish in which it came to the table. Mrs Dias had a big gravy mark on her white apron and she was no longer smiling. After Mrs Dias had returned to the kitchen, Fiona whispered that Mrs Dias had broken the small serving dish and half the chicken stew had gone onto the kitchen floor.

      ‘Why the hell are we whispering?’ I said.

      ‘I knew you’d start shouting,’ said Fiona.

      ‘I’m not shouting,’ I said. ‘I’m simply asking …’

      ‘We all heard you,’ said Fiona. ‘And if you upset Mrs Dias and we lose her …’ She left it unsaid.

      ‘But why are you trying to make me feel guilty?’ I said.

      ‘He’s always like this when something gets broken,’ said Fiona. ‘Unless, of course, he did it himself.’

      I shared out what little there was of the chicken. I took plenty of boiled rice. Fiona had opened one of the few good clarets left in the cupboard, and I poured it gratefully.

      ‘Would you like to come and stay with me while Bernard’s away?’ Fiona asked her sister.

      ‘Where are you going?’ Tessa asked me.

      ‘It’s not settled yet,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure I’m going anywhere.’

      ‘Berlin,’ said Fiona. ‘I hate being here alone.’

      ‘I’d love to, darling,’ Tessa said. ‘When?’

      ‘I’ve told you, it’s not arranged yet,’ I said. ‘I might not go.’

      ‘Soon,’ said Fiona. ‘Next week, or the week following.’

      Mrs Dias came in to remove the plates and solicit praise and gratitude for her cookery; these were provided in abundance by Fiona, with Tessa echoing her every superlative.

      ‘Senhor Sam?’ To her I was always Senhor Sam; she never said Senhor Samson. ‘Senhor Sam … he like it?’ She asked Fiona this question rather than addressing it to me. It was rather like hearing Uncle Silas and Bret Rensselaer and Dicky Cruyer discussing my chances of escaping from Berlin alive.

      ‘Look at his plate,’ said Fiona cheerfully. ‘Not a scrap left, Mrs Dias.’

      There was nothing left because my share was one lousy drumstick and wishbone. The greater part of the chicken stew was now spread out on kitchen foil in the garden, being devoured by the neighbourhood’s cat population. I could hear them arguing and knocking over the empty milk bottles outside the back door. ‘It was delicious, Mrs Dias,’ I said, and Fiona rewarded me with a beaming smile that vanished as the kitchen door closed. ‘Do you have to be so bloody ironic?’ said Fiona.

      ‘It was delicious. I told her it was delicious.’

      ‘Next time, you can interview the women the agency send round. Maybe then you’d realize how lucky you are.’

      Tessa hugged me. ‘Don’t be hard on him, Fiona darling. You should have heard George when the au pair dropped his wretched video recorder.’

      ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Fiona said, leaning forward to catch my attention. ‘You wanted to record that W. C. Fields film tonight.’

      ‘Right!’ I said. ‘What time was it on?’

      ‘Eight o’clock,’ said Fiona. ‘You’ve missed it, I’m afraid.’

      Tessa reached up to put her hand over my mouth before I spoke.

      Mrs Dias came in with some cheese and biscuits. ‘I told him to set the timer,’ said Fiona, ‘but he wouldn’t listen.’

      ‘Men are like that,’ said Tessa. ‘You should have said don’t set the timer, then he would have set it. I’m always having to do that sort of thing with George.’

      Tessa left early. She had arranged to see ‘an old school-friend’ at the Savoy Hotel bar. ‘That must be some school!’ I said to Fiona when she came back into the drawing room after seeing her sister to the door. I always let her see her sister to the door. There were always sisterly little confidences exchanged at the time of departure.

      ‘She’ll never change,’ said Fiona.

      ‘Poor George,’ I said.

      Fiona came and sat next to me and gave me a kiss. ‘Was I awful tonight?’ she asked.

      ‘Asinus asino, et sus sui pulcher – an ass is beautiful to an ass, so is a pig to a pig.’

      Fiona laughed. ‘You were always using Latin tags when I first met you. Now you don’t do that any more.’

      ‘I’ve grown up,’ I said.

      ‘Don’t grow up too much,’ she said. ‘I love you as you are.’

      I responded by kissing her for a long time.

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