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much of the furniture. There were two main bookcases and a couple of smaller bookstands. One of them was devoted to black writers – George Jackson, Baldwin, Cleaver, Biko, Mandela, Achebe. I could imagine their friends sitting around here. They would drink wine and talk seriously about important matters. They would be easy to satirise. But I felt I was in one of decency’s bunkers, where two people were trying to find values that made their lives honestly habitable.
    â€˜What do you think the painting’s about?’ I said as I sat down.
    It was a pastiche of Da Vinci’s last supper. Five men were at table, facing out. The man in the centre had no features. His hands were by his side. The other four were bearded. One of them could have been Scott. The meal and the clothes were contemporary. The perspective allowed you to see the five plates, still empty, before them. The plate of the man in the middle was blank. The other four plates had the image of the same face on them, a calm but mournful face of a balding man in his fifties, looking out at you. There were other elements in the picture but I hadn’t time to examine them. I didn’t like the painting. It seemed too derivative, notof Da Vinci, but of an idea extraneous to itself, an idea it hadn’t quite incarnated successfully.
    â€˜I’m not sure,’ John said. ‘Maybe that the four are feeding off the man in the middle? His loss of identity.’
    â€˜Something like that,’ Mhairi said. ‘Anyway, I like it. And Scott never explained.’
    We all looked at it briefly.
    â€˜It’s good to meet you,’ Mhairi said. ‘Scott talked about you a lot. Black Jack, he sometimes called you. Nicely, though. We miss him so much.’
    â€˜So do I,’ I said. ‘Not that I had seen too much of him lately. But he was always there for me. Like money in the bank. Suddenly it’s the Wall Street crash. I feel a bit impoverished without him.’
    â€˜He was special,’ John said. ‘The pupils talk a lot about him at the school. I think a couple of the sixth-year girls had vaguely thought they might marry him.’
    â€˜We used to see a lot of him and Anna,’ Mhairi said. ‘Not so much lately. But he still came round himself.’
    â€˜Anna,’ I said. ‘I tried to go and see her today. The house is up for sale. That was quick.’
    They looked at each other.
    â€˜You know how bad it was between them before Scott died?’ John said.
    â€˜I thought I had some idea. But maybe I underestimated drastically. I don’t know how you felt about the funeral, John. But I found that hard to take. I know Anna has to cope with it the way she can. But come on.’
    â€˜I think I can understand what Anna did,’ Mhairi said. ‘I don’t know if it’s what I would’ve done. But then maybe I wouldn’t have had the guts.’
    I waited.
    â€˜They were really separated before Scott died. They lived in the same house, right enough. But it was all over bar admitting it. What Anna felt must have been close to hate, I think. I think the funeral was a way to avoid hypocrisy as much as possible. She’s very strong-willed, Anna.’
    â€˜So was Scott, Mhairi,’ John said. ‘He had a lot of charm with it. But if you ruffled the etiquette, you touched iron quick enough.’
    â€˜What do you think went wrong between them?’ I asked.
    They both smiled and shook their heads.
    â€˜I know,’ I said. ‘Cancel the question.’
    â€˜No,’ John said. ‘I suppose, knowing them as well as we did, we got a few pointers. But how do you referee that stuff? You just see them sometimes coming out of their privacy and you know the game’s changed.’
    â€˜That’s right,’ Mhairi said. ‘You know what I’ve noticed? One of the signs is when a couple start to overreact to something in public. A subject comes up and