‘Now, why are you laughing?’ He pretended to be put out. ‘You shouldn’t make a chap’s romantic lines sound ludicrous.’

‘Even if they are ludicrous?’

He grinned. ‘Sorry. I’m probably not very good at this sort of thing.’

His sudden honesty was a lot more disarming than his glossy charm. I had to remind myself to be on my guard. Fortunately, my langoustine came to the rescue, a welcome distraction.

‘You know, it was a real shock to me, what happened this afternoon,’ I ventured, after a minute or two of contented eating. ‘I don’t understand why Nick would leave his shop to someone who … well, was a friend, certainly … but … I suppose what I really want to know is what caused such a terrible break up in your family.’

Richard was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Mum always said that the old man loved things more than people.’

I remembered the way Nick’s hand would caress the surface of a fine wood veneer, or hold up an old cup so that I could see how delicate the painting was, how translucent the porcelain. ‘He loved antiques,’ I said, almost as a defence.

‘Didn’t he, though?’ Richard’s smile was sardonic.

‘Did you all live above the shop?’ I asked. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine a family squeezed into that small flat.

Richard shook his head. ‘No. We had a house at the time, on the edge of town. When he was sent to prison for the second time, Mum decided it was time to get out, to go whilst the going was good. I think she was a little afraid of him. I’m not saying he was ever violent, but I don’t know if she would have had the courage to leave if he hadn’t been safely put away. She didn’t like some of the dodgy characters he associated with, and she didn’t want us to spend our childhood visiting him in prison, so we moved out to live with her sister.’

‘Is your mum still alive?’

He shook his head.

‘And Nick never tried to re-establish contact when he came out of prison?’

Richard shrugged. ‘He agreed to a divorce. The house was sold, and he moved in above the shop. We saw him again, of course, in the first few years, but gradually contact slipped away. At Christmas he would send us money. I always felt he was relieved’ − he paused to consider − ‘relieved of the burden of a wife and two children. Glad to shed the emotional baggage.’ He spoke without any bitterness and raised his glass to me. ‘But we’re getting rather gloomy.’

‘That still doesn’t explain why he left the shop to me,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t as if I did much for him. If anyone deserves to be rewarded for their kindness to him, it’s Mr Singh.’