‘Goes with the territory, Mum.’ My lovely son has the grace to smile. ‘The trick with selling anything is to make friends. Listen hard enough and it’s easier than I ever thought.’

‘Good.’ I’m back with the remains of the fish. ‘I’m pleased.’

We part on the pavement. The meal, if brief, has been a delight. Luca, the waiter, has corked the half bottle of Greco I’ve yet to drink and my flat is only a ten-minute stroll away. Malo is about to get into his Audi when he suddenly straightens at the kerbside.

‘One thing I forgot, Mum.’ The grin is back, wider than ever. ‘Clem’s all over me. Must be those runners I bought. Pink? When she’s so into those dark reds? Who’d have thought …?’

‘You’re back together?’

‘Big time. I’m on a yellow card as far as the booze is concerned, and I think she’s going to start running with me, just to check I’m not making it up. Aside from that, I can’t put a foot wrong. If she’s still awake tonight, I might ask her to marry me. Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On how this evening goes. Fingers crossed, eh?’ He gives me a hug, which is better than nice, and I’m still trying to work out whether he’s joking about Clem when he slips into the car, pulls a savage U-turn against the onrushing traffic and roars away.

Back at the flat, I settle in with the rest of the bottle of Greco. I’m half-expecting some kind of reply from Brett Atkinson, but I’ve no missed calls and there’s nothing in my texts. Still buzzing after Malo’s news about Clem, I resist the temptation to wallow in brainless TV and put a call through to H. To my slight disappointment, he knows about Clem already.

‘He’s a lucky boy,’ H grunts. ‘She should have given him the push months ago.’

‘That was the old Malo,’ I tell him. ‘This one’s close to irresistible. If I was Clem’s age, I think I’d forgive him, too. You know about his new friend? Sylvester? I’d like to say we owe him a big drink but I gather he’s teetotal, too.’

‘You’ve met him?’ H wants to know more.

‘I have. He’s older than Malo but they could be brothers. His dad’s a treasure, an ex-ambassador, though you’d never know it, truly a gentleman. Sylvester even looks like Malo. It’s uncanny.’

‘And you think he’s kosher?’

‘Meaning?’

‘All this Twilight Fund crap? The Doomsday thing is right on the money. In fact I’m amazed it hasn’t happened already. We just need to know he’s genuinely selling what he’s selling.’

‘Malo seems to think so.’

‘Malo’s still a kid. He rolls over easy.’