‘And women like my daughter who have also bought into the whole program – to the point where she actually thinks that if you can’t be a financial lion in this harsh world of ours you’re cooked.’

‘Then she’d really think me a total loser.’

‘Perhaps. But she’d be so wrong about that.’

‘But how else am I supposed to look at myself?’

She lightly touched my arm. And said:

‘As a good man.’

I really didn’t want to go back to her place. I knew it was going to make me feel shabby, down-at-heel and, yeah, a loser. But outside of floor space at Klara’s I had few other options. Going to my daughter’s also meant dragging her into the middle of all this. But sleeping in my car …

I glanced at my iPhone. It was now almost 9 p.m. The day – and all that had been in it – was suddenly hitting me hard. Elise could see this.

‘Let’s get you upstairs.’

She had two parking spaces in the garage below the building – and only used one. I pulled in, parked the car. She showed me the Volvo that she no longer drove. Dark gray. A saloon model. I walked around it. Perfect condition. Not a scratch or a dent. Nice leather seats inside. Automatic transmission. That was a relief as I hate driving stick shift. Tinted windows. I bet there was a two-liter engine under the hood. Thirty-five grand of automobile. So out of my league. Too nice for me to drive.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘You don’t deserve this car.’

‘Are you a mind reader?’ I asked, almost smiling. ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow.’

‘Yes, we will.’

We took the elevator up to the third floor. Her place was at the end of a corridor with six doors. Once inside what first struck me was: books. They were everywhere. There was a long hallway from the front door to the living room, with crammed shelves from the floor to the ceiling. Three of the four walls of the main room were also nonstop books. The furniture was all light wood and simple cushions in browns and reds. A whole shelf of family photographs. Her husband looked like a tall string bean with a taste for old-style tan suits and bow ties. Her daughter was equally tall and – even when young – had this look of superiority masking a lot of big-deal personal doubt. And Elise herself … a total knockout back in her twenties and thirties. Just as she remained beautiful today.

There was a big kitchen with the sort of gas range that you expect to see on a cooking show. There was a cool marble table with four equally cool 1950s black chairs.

‘That’s some stove,’ I told her. ‘You must be quite the cook.’