Ronnie was sitting on the Chesterfield to read the letter. François, coming in hurriedly, saw a man crying into the crook of his arm and stood petrified.
"M'sieur!"
Ronnie looked up. His eyes were swollen, his smooth skin blotchily red in patches.
"Hello, François. I'm being stupid. Get me a glass of water, please."
His hand was shaking so that he could hardly hold the glass to his chattering teeth.
François watched and marvelled.
"Did you meet your brother?" Ronnie was drying his eyes and smiling faintly at the valet's grotesque dismay.
"Yes, M'sieur, I hope that m'sieur was not inconvenienced—"
Ronnie shook his head.
"No—make me something. Coffee or tea—anything—have you brought your brother here?"