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Mother?’
    ‘Neither. I am quite reconciled to the fact that you have never been what might be termed an obedient son.’
    ‘Perhaps Ashley does enough obeying for both of us.’
    ‘Perhaps he does. I know I can rely on him to protect your father’s memory at all costs. Whereas you …’
    ‘Whereas I?’
    ‘Will go in search of the truth … wherever it is to be found.’
    ‘Would you prefer me not to?’
    ‘No one should act against their nature. I’m confident you won’t. All I ask is this: if you discover your father was the victim ofsomething other than an accident and if you discover what that something other was …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I should like to hear of it before you proclaim it to the world.’
    Max felt the full force of his mother’s gaze as he stood before her. He had supposed she wanted him to support his brother loyally in suppressing any scandal they came across in Paris. But it appeared she did not believe him capable of fulfilling such a role. Nor did she want him to. She had something altogether more subversive in mind. ‘I suspect Ashley would be more than a little alarmed by this conversation,’ he said.
    ‘Then don’t mention it to him. I certainly won’t.’
    ‘Very well.’
    ‘Do I have your word?’
    ‘That I will tell you the truth – if I uncover it – before I tell anyone else?’
    ‘Precisely.’
    It was a safe enough bargain, Max thought. He could follow Ashley’s lead and assure his mother there was no sinister explanation for Sir Henry’s death. He had ample room for manoeuvre. Troublingly, though, he was beginning to believe he would need all of it. ‘You have my word, Mother.’
    She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, James. I know you will keep it. Tread carefully in Paris, won’t you?’
    ‘But not
too
carefully?’
    She smiled at him. ‘There is no danger of you doing that.’
    An hour later, after hurried breakfasts and equally hurried farewells, Max and his brother set off.

 
    MAX SURPRISED HIMSELF by maintaining an even temper and a flow of uncontroversial conversation as the journey proceeded. His brother Ashley –
Sir
Ashley now, as Max felt sure he would not be allowed to forget – expatiated, with no apparent sense of irony, on the challenges of managing the military supply chain in time of war. Aldershot sounded positively perilous in his version of events.
    He had never been as near the Front as he was now going, however. The devastation to be seen from the train near Amiens, stretching around them, had a noticeable effect on him. Perhaps, Max thought, he could dimly imagine the horror buried not so deep beneath the mangled earth. It shamed him, though he hid the emotion as best he could. Ashley was not about to admit that Max had been one of those braving the hazards his crocked knee had spared him.
    Ashley had cabled Fradgley at the embassy in Paris telling him of their travel plans. A note from him was waiting for them at the Hotel Mazarin on Lion-&-Unicorn-crested paper.
    March 23, 1919
    Dear Sir Ashley,
    Thank you for your cable. I hope it will be convenient if I call at your hotel at 9.30 on Monday morning to discuss with you and your brother the circumstances of your father’s regrettable demise and the procedures it is necessary tofollow in order to repatriate the body. I will be accompanied by Mr Appleby of the security detail to the British delegation to the peace conference. I trust this will be satisfactory.
    Respectfully yours,
    W. H. Fradgley
    ‘It’s dated today,’ was Ashley’s first reaction.
    ‘What of it?’ Max asked, feeling vaguely curious about his brother’s thought processes.
    ‘A civil servant bestirring himself on a Sunday suggests our visit is being taken seriously. It’s an indication that they mean to show us every consideration. As they should.’
    A more sinister possibility had occurred to Max. The attention they were receiving suggested to him that Sir Henry’s death was a