‘Aside. I was bewitched by James. I did not lust for him, that is not my métier. I could not have run the club if I had so defaulted. I was never tempted. I watched, it amused me, I guided, but I always stood apart.’

‘Close to the till, one assumes?’

‘Always! It was my job, as I told you. I now have a new hotel opening here in July. All due to hard work. But that was that, and then, after Millar had that accident everything seemed to change. It brought us all to our senses: the club still went on as usual – why not? – but for James I think it had a profound, and lasting, effect. Like drifting out of a deep anaesthetic. He was very much a weather-house, you know? “Fair” on one side, on the other “Storm”. I always hoped that he would one day seek the fair side and stay there. And strangely, with the help of René, and to some extent myself, he did. We managed to persuade him to return to life, to come here, to paint again. René knew the place, so did I, and many painters came here. He agreed. He was no longer the golden youth and the life he had been leading was the downward slide to destruction.’

‘And he came away?’

‘He came away. It was a world and a half away from the one with which he had grown too familiar.’

‘And Brent Millar was not far distant? Right? You must have known that?’

‘Sure I knew. You cannot take someone off “medicine” instantly. An amputation! Easing him off coke was hard enough, and it was considered that Millar, who was paralysed, could be no longer a threat. He was a ruin. No danger. And he was not. For a time. James began slowly to adjust, started to paint again. I gave him this commission which we have collected today, a guarantee of money, forcing him to work. And he did. And then he met the girl, Prideaux. And all was magically well, until the birth of the child. From that moment on, when he believed that he had been responsible for an imperfect child, that it was his fault and only his, then that was the fall into darkness.’

He finished his beer, cupped the glass in his hand, shook his head. He was exhausted, telling the story had distressed and drained him. He looked at his watch, something which I had noticed he did often, then he got to his feet.

‘I must go. I have answered all your questions, I think? And all the others which you did not ask. I must get back to my hotel. A building-site is very like a battlefield. The general cannot leave his soldiers for fear that they will desert. One has to set the example, as you English say, people have to be led. Strangely, they expect it, alas!’