‘Or some women to some men,’ I said. ‘She seems to like Seb well enough.’

‘I don’t know about that. Not sure she likes him much at the moment either.’ I think we were in the kitchen. I have a half-memory of her picking up a tea towel and drying some dishes. ‘She’s got a thing about controlling men,’ she said then, almost casually.

‘What?’

A beat passed before she answered. ‘She thinks you try to control me with your jealousy.’ Then, seeing my expression, added, ‘That’s her – not me.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What? She thinks I’m controlling?’

‘I know,’ she said, agreeing, wide-eyed.

‘Well, she got the idea from somewhere,’ I muttered under my breath and then left the room.

Later I’d apologised. ‘It’s okay. I know what Nina’s like.’ I’d seen Nina just a couple of times since then. Once was on the day I’d brought the dollars. She had been out so Seb and I had taken the cash from the bin-bags and bundled them tightly into carrier bags, the better to fit the coffee table-trunk in the loft. I was passing the last bundle of notes to him when I heard the front door open. It was Nina. We froze. We heard her going through the house and then suddenly Seb dropped the bag that was in his hand and there were dollars everywhere. I still remember how we scrabbled about on hands and knees, picking up cash by the fistful before she came up. Then when she did we feigned innocence.

‘What?’ we said on the landing as she came up.

She said nothing but knew something was up. And when she stalked out, we both laughed.

The bell rings and Seb gets up to answer it. He pauses by the kitchen door. ‘Let me do the talking.’

I wait.

The front door opens in a clatter of locks and chains, then the sound of heels on wood and later the scent of rose. It’s a smell I remember. Another madeleine bringing a rush of memory. That rose. Turkish delight.

When Nina comes into the kitchen, she is mid-sentence with Seb and then stalls. She sees me and we lock eyes. Mine see a woman with the same cut-glass cheekbones and bright blue-green eyes that I remember. The effect is as arresting as ever in her pale face. Her fringe is still dark. Only a few fine lines around the eyes give away the time that has passed.

‘Xander,’ she says. There is no warmth in it at all. She turns her back to me and faces Seb, arms crossed. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He’s the reason I called you. Have a seat. Coffee?’