‘You mean you sold it to him? The idea? The concept?’

‘I did. Big time. And now he’s after a thirty per cent commission for every introduction that comes good. In your dreams, Dad.’

Malo laughs and steals a look at his watch. Already we’ve agreed to skip starters in the interests of his hectic schedule, but Avventura has an open kitchen and the smells tell me we’re only minutes away from eating.

‘So tonight?’ I query.

‘Lebanese guy. Used to be a pro footballer in France. PSG and then Monaco. Made a bit of money and invested big time in top-of-the-range rental property. Really nice bloke, and clever, too. Fabulous wife. Two kids. Big duplex in Shoreditch. Rich people hate surprises, and DD is definitely the biggest. Insurance again. Get yourself a way out. Buy a bunker that floats. Join the SC. Never fails.’

‘DD?’ I query.

‘Doomsday.’

‘SC?’

‘Survivors’ Club.’ He rolls his eyes, then changes the subject. ‘Sylvester mentioned he saw you at the weekend. Bunch of people and some wreath or other? What was that about?’

I tell him briefly about saying goodbye to Christianne, but I sense he knows most of this already. What really interests him is McFaul.

‘Sylvester says he used to clear minefields for a living.’

‘Sylvester’s right. He worked in Africa, the Balkans, the Middle East.’

‘Lifting mines?’

‘Yes.’

‘That sounds like DD every day of your working life. Brave or what?’

‘Good question.’ I’m thinking of my last sight of McFaul. ‘Brave is where you start. Brave takes you to a job like that. But what’s happening now is probably worse. Losing a leg he seemed to deal with. Losing Christianne is a different story.’

‘How well do you know him?’

‘Barely at all. He’s a difficult man. Conversation isn’t easy.’

‘But I’m guessing you managed OK.’

‘Just. Enough to know the guy’s slipped his moorings. Strange, isn’t it? You spend most of your life coping with stuff that you and I can barely imagine, then you end up in that sleepy little seaside town, and it all falls apart.’

‘He’s got mates? People he can trust?’

‘He’s got people he knows. Christianne was his mate. I’m not sure he’s ever been keen on the plural.’

Malo nods. The food arrives and we tuck in. Poached sea bream in white wine, capers and parsley never fails to lift my spirits. Not that Malo isn’t, by some truly magical transformation, the best company.

He wants to know more about McFaul. Has he anyone to turn to? Now that his partner’s gone?

‘There are one or two people, friends of Christianne, but he’s a loner, really.’

‘Bit of a one-off?’

‘Definitely.’

‘And right now?’

‘Unhinged. Displaced. All at sea. Slipped his moorings. Like I just said.’ I look up, genuinely curious. ‘How come you’re suddenly so interested in other people?’