it, and he would; it was his music that would be heard in the flat from now on.
He was thinking about this, relishing the thought, when he heard the key turn in the lock. He put down the bowl in which he had been whisking the eggs for the soufflé. Eddie was his son; he had no reason to be afraid of him. And yet his breath came quickly and his mouth felt curiously dry as he made his way from the kitchen into the hall. He would have to tell Eddie about Freddie de la Hay before his son saw the dog. He needed to get the upper hand right away so that he would have the advantage in the confrontation that would inevitably ensue.
Eddie opened the door and came into the hall.
“I’ve got some interesting news,” William blurted out.
“Oh yeah?” said Eddie.
“Yeah,” said William. “I’ve acquired a pet.”
Eddie frowned. “You?” he asked. “You’ve acquired a what?”
“A pet,” William repeated.
Eddie burst out laughing. “A hamster?” he said. “That’s pretty tragic, Dad. ‘Elderly Wine Merchant Acquires Hamster for Company.’” Eddie liked to talk in newspaper headlines—another habit that irritated William.
William shook his head. “No,” he said. “‘Middle-aged Wine Merchant Gets Dog.’”
Eddie, who had been walking across the hall towards his room, stopped where he was. “Dog?” he whispered.
“Yes. A very agreeable dog,” confirmed William. “He’s called Freddie de la Hay. He’s through there in the drawing room. Go and take a look, if you like.”
The deed was done, and William felt a surge of relief. He had presented Eddie with the clearest ultimatum, and it had been much easier than he had expected.
Eddie glared at his father. “Have you gone out of your mind?” he hissed. “You … you know I can’t be near a dog. You know that.”
William spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But you said you were going to move out. I’ve always assumed that you were going to do that. So the fact that you don’t like dogs shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
35. Eddie Is Cool
FOR A FEW MOMENTS Eddie said nothing, but stared intensely at his father in frank astonishment. Then, his disbelief changing to horror, he brushed past William and strode into the drawing room.
Freddie de la Hay, half asleep on the Baluchi rug in front of the fireplace, content to doze in this new, agreeable place, lazily opened first one eye and then the other. Raising his nose from the rug, he sniffed at the air: Yes, this was the other person he had smelled on his earlier rounds of the flat. So this was the second occupant of the house. One could not, as a dog, expect that most perfect of arrangements from the canine perspective: one human and one dog. Such dispositions existed but were rare, and were not to be, it seemed, for Freddie de la Hay.
He stared at Eddie for a few moments and then lowered his head back onto the rug to continue his doze. There was nothing he needed to do; any instructions, he imagined, would come from William, who was clearly now his master, and not from this new arrival.
Eddie spun round and stormed back into the hall. William saw his expression and winced, his resolve not to be intimidated by his son seeming a small thing now in the face of this towering filial wrath.
“Is this your idea of a joke, Dad?” Eddie shouted. And then, before William could answer, he added, “Whose dog is it? Get them to come and fetch it.”
William swallowed. He belonged to a generation that had missed the two great conflicts of the twentieth century and he had a profound distaste for any manifestation of anger. Seeing his son in this mood shocked him, and he was for a moment uncertain what to do. His instinct was to agree, to assure Eddie that the dog was only a visitor and that he had indeed been joking. But he managed to steel himself sufficiently to reply, “Sorry, Eddie, but it’s not a joke. I’ve always wanted a dog. And you did say that you were going to get your own place. That place with Stevie.”
Eddie had been about to shout out something more but this stopped him. He frowned. He had said nothing to his father about Stevie’s proposal, or had he? No, he had only discussed it on the phone, when his friend had rung him. His father, then, must have been listening; it was the only