The security guards were casting a disdainful glance and obviously his return was going to be tricky. A very considerate valet attendant came over with a bottle of water, which was used in a semi-successful attempt to get the rest of the vomit that hadn’t made it into the gutter slushed off the pavement. He was grateful for some compassion, even if directed towards the pavement.

On his way past the glare of the security guards, he muttered the words bad and fish in vague connection, a weak attempt in paranoid thought to dispel their conviction that it was the alcohol. He was allowed back in, his exit having been well noticed; he saw Lomita, now outside the gallery space in the slowly-emptying lobby, talking to Miss Money-Root and Mr Lorken.

Obviously the ever-professional Miss Money-Root had made the introduction and he could already read on his approach that Lomita had charmed her two companions.

‘Hello. Mr Jacob.’

Ever said by way of introduction, and in a spur-of-the-moment thought that would avoid any online checking:

‘But everyone just calls me Jacob. I guess I have the status of a one-name guy. Or Just Jacob, if you must.’

His attempt at the icebreaker joke, always a risky strategy, fell slowly to the floor and no attempt was made to salvage the minimal mess.

‘Of course, you know Mr Lorken.’

A calmly cruel Miss Money-Root, putting air back into the vacuum.

‘And you remember, of course—’

These ‘of courses’ almost presupposed he was incapable of compiling thought and putting it into the form of memory. She continued:

‘Our meeting, when you came with your initial inquiry.’

That word pronounced again with the American intonation.

‘Pleased to meet you.’

No handshake was offered by Mr Lorken, and Ever returned his wandering hand to his side.

‘I am so delighted to have had the opportunity of talking to Lomita, if I may be so bold as to call you that?’

Everybody had that reaction to Lomita, the asking of permission to be intimate with her name. At least, Ever remembered having the same experience.

Mr Lorken continued:

‘We were talking about her desire to review some pieces we have housed in our collection.’

Miss Money-Root saved him.

‘John Everett Millen.’

He had obviously completely forgotten the name in the brief time since it had originally hit the air.

‘Of course, yes, and we would be delighted to organise that for you. I will leave all the details to Miss Money-Root.’

He clearly enjoyed saying the name, and Ever wondered if that is how she got the job, it was his work represented by a name. Money is the root.

‘I must take my leave, but as we are near neighbours…’

A conversation missed by Ever, but a question that would have been asked as a way to establish socio-economic status: to get a fix on Lomita.