Lomita had looked around during what was essentially a monologue; the waiters were unusually not pouring at her pace, even they had stopped; she caught a waiter’s eye just as she caught the word exploit. And felt comfortable and becalmed enough to repeat.

‘Exploit?’

But it was taken as a feed; a support, not the start of criticism.

‘Yes, but, of course, I am in it for the beauty and the process of education, educating the world through art. Blah, blah, blah.’

That is an annoying speech-affected habit. That blah, blah, blah thing. Like manual quotation marks. Lomita wanted to put voice to her thoughts but didn’t, of course, in deference to her host.

‘But mainly for its value.’

His words were not being received in sequential flow now by Lomita, but as intermittent punctuations amidst the general babble.

‘Does that mean I am going to bid for a pool of boiling snot?’

Is there such a thing? Lomita hesitated, about to ask, but the acceptance from Abby and Dinah precluded the doubt that there was indeed an artwork that contained boiling snot. She took a mouthful of her onion potato, it was delicious, even though the texture of the onion was questionable in the light of the topic.

‘No, let a Saatchi do that. I want the solid bets. I don’t want to house a crash, as fashion changes; but there are some artists, I think, who are beyond fashion.’

Maybe they should all lighten up. But no, not the players, pondered a slightly wobbly Lomita.

‘Well this is a fine Shabbat dinner: we are, and you can’t deny it, Ingmar, we are talking business.’

God bless Dinah. And do it now please, God. Lomita had had enough of the justification of their existence. But don’t we all do that? It’s just that these people have so much to go on about. She was in conversation with herself, there could be no argument there.

Let’s just deal with Millen. But it was carrying on.

‘Not business, Dinah-pie, there are no deals, it’s the philosophy of business. I really don’t care about the artist, in fact if they die, it is often better.’

You are going to have to try harder Dinah. Don’t give up. She was so glad Ever was not witness to this: if what she could sense was on its way, he wouldn’t be wielding a Glock 17. It would be a Kalashnikov.

‘Ingmar, really.’

Come on Lomita. She was bringing herself round. Why am I here?

‘May I just go back a little?’

She had succeeded in gaining Mr Lorken’s attention.

‘What about Millen?’

‘I couldn’t remember a thing about him. Anyway I asked my marketing director to give me an update which I can give you now, or have it written out for you when you view.’

‘Horse’s mouth.’

She said. Let’s not mess about, she thought.