‘Hello, again!’

Shit, thought Carver. ‘It’s not my best night, is it?’

‘Is it a big problem, whatever it is?’

‘I don’t bring work home, remember?’ That wasn’t even true.

‘You just did.’

‘Let’s forget it, Jane.’

She looked surprised at the tone in his voice. ‘It’s nothing to do with us, is it?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’ He should have handled everything better than this!

‘Did you see Dad today?’

‘Briefly.’

‘He’s going back up to Litchfield tomorrow.’

‘I know.’ It had been Jane’s urging that they buy a weekend house less than five miles from her father in Litchfield County, both close to Woodridge Lake.

‘I thought I might drive up with him, for company.’

‘Why don’t you do that?’

Manuel came enquiringly into the dining room and Jane said to Carver: ‘Do you want anything else? Dessert?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m full.’

‘That’s a lie, but OK.’ To the butler she said: ‘After you’ve cleared away we shan’t need you any more tonight. Thank you. Tell Luisa it was a wonderful meal, as usual. But we weren’t hungry.’ Neither Manuel nor his wife, who cooked, lived in.

‘Den or where?’ she asked Carver.

‘Den,’ he decided, following her along the linking corridor. The eight-room duplex on East 62nd Street had been her father’s wedding present.

‘You want a brandy?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I’m worried about Dad,’ she announced.

‘Worried how?’

‘So often losing the thread of what he’s saying. That’s why I want to go up with him tomorrow: persuade him to see Dr Jamieson.’

‘It’ll take some persuading.’

‘I want you to help me.’