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“What are you going to name the child?” Effie asked. “Oh, will you let me name her?”

Archie pulled his gaze from Simon’s, but not before shooting him a wink. “How do you know it’s going to be a her?”

“Or him,” Effie amended. “But I have a feeling it will be a girl.”

“Well, either way, no, I shan’t let you name my child.”

“If it’s a girl,” Effie, undaunted, said, “you must continue in the fruit tradition.”

“The fruit tradition?” Simon, genuinely perplexed, asked.

“Yes, you know. The Morgan sisters: Clementine and Olive.” Effie turned to Archie, his eyes narrowed. “What about … Apple?”

“That seems entirely too modern,” Simon said. Like something one of the members of the experimental string quartet Olive so loved would name a child.

“Yes, you’re right,” Effie said. “I have it! Plum!”

“You are not naming my child,” Archie said, but he was laughing. “But … if you were, what if it’s a boy?”

“Well, to start, please don’t name him after yourself.”

“I ought to be offended!”

“It isn’t about your actual name. Though ‘Archibald’ is rather dreary, don’t you think?” Before anyone could answer he said, “But ‘Archie’ is delightful, a bit regal, even, and so very you. Still, a man should not pass his name on to his son. He may mean well, but with the name, one passes expectations, and while it is perfectly reasonable to have certain expectations of one’s children, they ought to be about character. A man oughtn’t to expect his son to be a miniature version of himself.”

Again, Simon was feeling rather sentimental. Many people, perhaps even the world at large, thought Effie a silly, lightweight sort of man. But he had real insight and wisdom.

He thought of Frances, calling James silly, and then explaining what James meant to her.

“A title is enough,” Effie went on. “So if it’s a boy, give him his own name.” He tilted his head back and contemplated the sky, “Perhaps … Gilbert.”

“Gilbert?” Archie wrinkled his nose.

“It is German for ‘bright.’”

“You are not naming my child, though I do thank you for your enthusiasm. Both of you. By the by, I must swear you both to secrecy. It is early days. Clementine told me not to tell anybody.”

“But by ‘anybody,’ she cannot have meant us,” Effie said.

“I am sure she didn’t,” Simon said placatingly. “Yet, let us keep Archie’s confidence.”

“If it is a girl,” Archie said, “we are thinking of naming her after my mother—Emma.”

“How lovely,” Simon said. “And speaking of your mother, how is she faring? Is she doing any visiting?” He was wondering how the reunion with her old friend, Mrs. Baldwin, had gone, though come to think of it, the proposed week for the visit was the current, so he could hardly expect a report.

“No visiting, alas,” Archie said. “She isn’t up to it.”

Hmm. Simon wanted to press, but he hadn’t told Archie he’d called that day. He assumed the housekeeper, or Miss Brown, or someone, had. But it hadn’t been mentioned. And what would he say? I snooped in Miss Brown’s private things on a visit to your house that you may or may not know about, and I found a letter inviting one of your mother’s friends to call?

“She seems in good spirits, though,” Archie said. “None of the more distressing episodes of recent years has been in evidence of late. I am optimistic about how she will fare here.”

“Well,” Simon said, putting away his curiosity. “Emma is a lovely name for a girl.”

“You know what else is a lovely name for a girl?” Effie asked with a glint in his eye. “Plum.”

Archie groaned. “I think not.”

“It will grow on you.”