Late that same afternoon, I phone Malo. This morning’s conversation with Bill Penny has persuaded me to trust McFaul, but I’m not at all sure about my son. The news that he’s found a soulmate in the shape of the wolfish Sylvester isn’t altogether a surprise, but when Malo gets himself revved up – in H’s phrase – pretty much anything can happen. In the right company, like Clemmie’s, Malo can be a dream. In the hands of someone older, and less caring, he starts to lose his bearings. I’d like to blame it on the lure of untold wealth, but it’s way more complex than that. Malo can be reckless, especially on the tighter bends, and what he adores more than anything is the prospect of an adventure or two. As he’s told me himself, he gets bored all too easily. Attention deficit? Being ignored as a kid by his busy, busy parents? Too many treats instead of a family life? All of the above.

My call finds him at the wheel of his car, a rather stylish Audi convertible that came as a present from H. He’s driving down to Southampton to take a meeting with a guy about the Twilight Fund. ‘Take’ is new. I’ve never heard Malo use it in this context before. It must come from Sylvester.

‘So, who is this man?’

‘His name’s Karl. He’s a bit older than me, but not much. He used to work for one of the big super-yacht outfits, based down in Poole, but he’s started a consultancy of his own. He’s awesome, Mum. Sylvester met him at the Monaco Yacht Show. This is a guy with a line to everyone who matters.’

I smile. In these moods, at full flow, my son is impossible to interrupt. The sheer momentum that carries him from sentence to sentence, from proposition to proposition, from dream to dream, is irresistible. Nothing can stop him, and it’s nice to hear.

‘You’re having dinner?’ I manage at last.

‘Big time. Karl’s booked us a table at some incredible place in Hamble. A couple of other guys are coming. Pool our expertise, and we cover the entire reservation. We’ll have it nailed by midnight.’

‘What? What will you have nailed?’

‘The project.’

‘Who says?’

‘Karl. He thinks Twilight’s great. He’s already told me. Huge potential. History on our side.’

‘He said that?’

‘He did. He’s half German, Mum. Speaks five languages. He’s got a contacts book you wouldn’t believe, a CV to die for. History on our side? Don’t you love it?’

In a way, I do. As a phrase, it weighs nothing, means nothing. It’s lighter than air, the perfect lure to tempt rich punters on to the hook. Pavel, I know, would adore it.

‘So, what are you bringing to the table?’