He had reached to take up his beer from the terrace when a hoopoe suddenly swept down, alighted on the white gravel path feet away, and began to ‘grit’ with caution, its crest rising and falling like a feathered hand. We sat and watched, mesmerized by its beauty until, with a quick jerk of its head, eyes bright as boot buttons, it looked about, took fright, and sailed up high over the olives in the orchard and was gone.

‘I have never seen one so close!’ Aronovich had got his beer, pouring the other half into his glass. ‘Never so close before.’ He set the empty bottle back on the tiles, eased himself back on his tin chair.

‘Of course, she also hated me because she knew that I ran a reprehensible, but very fashionable, club in Paris. I had corrupted James. Voilà! But you know, James was corruptible. He could have resisted, stayed away. But he chose to remain. In my club, whatever you wanted you got. If you could afford it. Sex? You could have it in all its many varieties. Risk? I gave them risk. The chase? You would find the chase at L’Avril, and the hunt and capture? The field and the quarry? All there, all on offer. I supplied. Supplied well. My job. I am a Jew, I am good at marketing, know what people want, and what they will pay for. A girl you want? You get. A boy? Join the queue. Arab, Chinese, Christian, Black or Green. I have. Bondage? That too. Pain? If you demand. Humiliation? Ah! Who better to know humiliation and grovelling than an Argentinian-Russian-Italian Jew with a nose job! The club prospered, became famous. It was well run, everything supplied was all “kosher”. They got what they wanted. For real. Simple.’

‘And James was corruptible?’

‘He was a bisexual. This you surely know? He wished to try his wings, taste all.’

‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know my little brother very well.’

‘When he was first brought to the club he was unaware himself. He just had to be encouraged, shall I say? He liked it. He spoiled as easily as the perfect peach which he resembled. Ripe, glowing, firm, golden, untarnished. What a fruit to be taken. I mçan no pun! He bruised quickly, alas.’

‘I can imagine that very well.’

‘He flourished. Like a rare bloom in a tropical garden. One can say that?’

‘You do. You introduced him to Brent Millar?’

‘Millar was glamorous, rich, lusty, a splendid man. He was the brilliant lamp, the central flame, around which all the idiot moths fluttered. James was enthralled from the start. The money too was good. He offered the boy everything the silly youth thought he wanted. And got. He needed only a little encouragement.’

‘And you? Where did you stand in this sad story?’