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‘White,’ I say.
He fills a glass, tilting it up against the light, before handing it to me.
‘How did you know I was a psychologist?’ I ask.
‘I always find it useful to know who I’m meeting.’
‘I’m the same,’ I say. ‘You’re not as famous as your brother.’
He laughs. ‘Or as newsworthy.’
He takes a seat, crossing his legs, one hand in his lap and the other holding the stem of his wine glass. He has an interesting face, remarkable for its blandness. No features stand out. I wonder how a caricaturist would draw him because there is nothing obvious to exaggerate or distort. There is too much symmetry.
‘I want to thank you for your bravery and the assistance you’ve given to Florence and the young boy who survived the crossing. How is he?’
‘Traumatised but talking.’
‘What is going to happen to him?’
‘He’ll go into foster care until they establish if he has any living relatives.’
‘I wish to fund his asylum application.’
‘It might be better if he went home.’
‘He was looking for a new one.’
There is a moment where the silence settles over us.
Simon begins speaking first. ‘What does he need? I can provide him with clothes, accommodation, a phone, an education.’
‘He is fine for the moment,’ I say. ‘Can I ask you why you want to help him?’
‘Despite appearances, Cyrus, I am not a pessimist. I have not lost all faith in the human condition. I also realise that not everybody is fortunate enough to be born into a country as rich and prosperous as this one. I am aware that often in this nation’s history we have taken advantage of other countries or peoples, taking more than we gave back.’
‘Albania was not part of the British Empire.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
Suddenly, it dawns on me. ‘Buchan isn’t your original family name.’
‘My grandfather, Josef Paumer, fled from Czechoslovakia in 1938 when the Nazis annexed the Sudetenland and more than two hundred thousand people, Czechs and Jews and anti-fascists, escaped because they knew what was coming. My grandfather was sixteen. He hijacked cars, drugged guards, broke into houses and walked for twenty-eight days, through Austria, into Italy, crossing the Alps in the depths of winter.’
‘Why isn’t that a story I’ve read?’
‘My father downplayed our history. He thought our grandfather was a traitor, who should have stayed and fought the fascists rather than running away.’
‘Why change your name?’
‘My grandfather married into the Buchan family and took the name of his wife. Lucy was shunned by her parents for marrying a penniless foreigner, but she punished them by keeping her family name. Eventually, her parents begged for forgiveness.’
‘Your grandfather won them over.’
‘No. He bought them out.’ Simon laughs and takes a sip of wine, swirling it around in his mouth. ‘Death duties were forcing the Buchan family to sell their ancestral home in Scotland. By then their unsuitable son-in-law, my grandfather, had become a wealthy man. He bought the house and kept it in the family.’
‘A grand gesture.’
‘The ultimate fuck you.’
