from advising caution. He placed his chopsticks to one side, put his napkin on the table, and was quiet.
‘You look worried about something.’
Mark had also finished eating.
‘I do?’
‘Yeah.’
Keen frowned and said, ‘No, I’m fine. Just digesting.’
‘Is it Ben?’
The question took him by surprise, if only because, for once in Mark’s company, Keen had not been thinking about Ben. It was a rare occasion on which the two failed to discuss the possibility of reconciliation. Their last two meetings, for example, had descended into an awkward row about Ben’s stubborn refusal to put the past behind him. Mark had been sympathetic to his father’s position, but his first loyalty was to his brother.
‘Have you thought any more about that?’ If this was an opportunity to reopen the subject, then Keen would grasp it.
‘Not much,’ Mark said.
‘I see.’
‘But you’re still eager to make amends, to tell him how sorry you are?’
‘Something like that.’ Keen wondered if Mark had a plan, but his manner seemed dismissive and offhand. ‘Have you seen him lately?’
‘Matter of fact, I have.’ Mark finished off the last of the wine. ‘Had dinner with him the night I got back. Brother cooked up a green curry and spent most of the evening arguing with Alice.’
‘That seems to happen a lot.’
‘All the time lately.’
‘Are they unhappy?’
Mark breathed in deeply and puffed out his cheeks.
‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘Sometimes I wonder what he sees in her, beyond the looks, the lifestyle.’
‘Yes, you’ve said that before. But Alice was very helpful to Ben when your mother died, wasn’t she? Isn’t that the case?’
‘That was the case.’ Mark paused briefly. He was reluctant to betray Ben’s confidence, but the wine had got the better of him. ‘But there’s more to it than that,’ he said.
‘Expand.’
A waiter placed two steaming napkins on a plate in front of them. Mark turned his hands heavily through the cloth and then wiped his mouth.
‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘They’ve been together a long time. Brother helped to get her career started and Alice supported him when he wanted to get into painting. Far as I can tell they have great sex, you know, so that helps when things turn nasty. And besides, a part of me reckons they love all the arguments, that they feed off the aggro and tension.’
Keen leaned back in his chair.
‘Interesting,’ he said, with apparent empathy. ‘So you don’t suppose he’s any closer to the idea of meeting up?’ He was aware that the question was cack-handed, yet determined to make an approach. ‘You don’t thinkhe’d be amenable to, say, a drinkor perhaps dinner?’
Mark laughed and stared at the ceiling.
‘Is that what this is about?’ he said. ‘You want to have this conversation every time we meet up?’
‘Until he’s prepared to forgive and forget, yes.’
Keen had not intended to sound angry, but his words had a remarkable effect. Mark, ever the conciliator, resolved to calm his father down.
‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘You just have to understand that Ben is stubborn, that he’s very set in his ways. For him to agree even to talk to you would mean a betrayal of Mum. That’s how he feels about things. We’ve spoken about this. In his mind, it’s either you or her.’
Keen managed to look appropriately dismayed, but he had been taken with a sharp, persuasive idea. Earlier in the day he had collected a signet ring from a jeweller in Paddington who had reset the bloodstone. The box was in his briefcase. He could use this as a lever, something to play on Mark’s sense of decency.
‘I had your photograph framed,’ he said.
‘My photograph?’
‘Of Ben’s wedding. It’s hanging in the flat.’ Two weeks earlier, Mark had given him a photograph of Ben’s wedding day, taken moments after he had first emerged from the church with Alice at his side. Keen had had the picture enlarged and framed and it now hung in the sitting room of his London flat. ‘I thought that I might give you something in return.’
‘Oh yeah?’
Keen was quickly into the briefcase, leaning down beside his chair. The box was covered in a thin mock- velvet cover and he handed it to Mark.
‘Are we getting married?’
‘Just open it. Have a look.’
‘What is this?’
Keen was improvising.
‘Call it a present. Of a family nature. More accurately described as an heirloom.’
Inside, Mark found the gold-banded signet ring, set with an engraved bloodstone.
‘This is for me?’
‘I’ve wanted you to have it for some time. It was your grandfather’s.’
Mark was oblivious to any deception. Prising the ring from its box he began turning it in his fingers. A small smudge of grease formed on the gold and he wiped it away with his napkin.
‘This is really kind of you,’ he said, finding that he was actually blushing. ‘You sure about this, Dad?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Why don’t you put it on?’ Mark looked briefly around the restaurant, as if conscious of being watched. Then he placed the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand and held it up for inspection.
‘That’s where it’s supposed to go, right? The “pinky”? Is that what it’s called?’
‘I believe so.’ Keen cleared his throat. ‘I don’t suppose they’re really the fashion these days among the nightclub classes, but you can always give it a go.’
‘I’m really touched. Thank you.’
And now he played the ace.
‘I wonder how Ben would feel if I were to do the same for him.’
From the direction of the kitchen there was the sound of a plate smashing on stone. Silence briefly engulfed the restaurant before conversations resumed.
‘I’m not following you.’ Mark looked slightly worried.
‘There are two signet rings in the family,’ Keen explained. ‘One belonged to your grandfather, the other to his brother. As you may know, Bobby died without producing any children. I’ve always thought his ring should be passed on…’
‘So you thought you’d wait twenty-five years and get me to do it for you?’
Keen acknowledged the slight with just a tilt of his head. He was determined that the plan should succeed.
‘Point taken,’ he said. ‘But would you be prepared to have a word with your brother, to perhaps sound him out?’
Mark ground his chair a foot back from the table.
‘Haven’t we just had this discussion?’
‘It’s just that I feel we’ve never really given Benjamin a chance to come forward, to give his side of the story.’
‘To come forward?’
Keen pushed his glass to one side, as if making a clear channel through which any request could not realistically be turned down.
‘I apologize,’ he said. ‘I’m obviously not making myself clear. Call it a symptom of my frustration. You have always presented Ben’s reluctance to talk to me as a fait accompli. The idea that he might change his mind has
