Questioned Lomita; he was not an obtuse man.

‘Of course.’

‘Are you going back to Beverly Hills after lunch?’

Lomita asked.

‘If not don’t worry, I just need to call my driver.’

‘No, please don’t, I would be delighted to drop you off. It is not a problem, no effort at all.’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘Would you like a chocolate truffle?’

He asked, after much appraisal of room and people.

‘They keep them for me. I love them.’

‘Not for me, thanks very much.’

And she sat and watched him munch his truffle and reflected on how trying to help someone gets you into a fine fucking mess. At that moment, as another truffle was being bitten in two, she hated the fucking sight of this pompous, rich, self-important fuck.

‘Delicious lunch, thank you.’

She proffered.

He remained oblivious to her feeling, her strength of feeling.

‘We don’t have to wait for the check.’

Of course you don’t, she thought, I’m sure you own the place.

*

They were standing on the sidewalk.

He very graciously had lent his arm as an additional support to her cane. He was waving his twenty-dollar bill and then escorted her to the opening door of his electric blue Dawn; top down; the piece of substantial flash. She made no comment about his car on purpose, knowing that this was the only reason he had bought it. She was climbing in, sit first, legs swing in later, when she noticed a dull red Honda, a car she would never have paid any attention to had it not been for the fact that Ever was sitting behind the wheel: directly facing the Rolls.

Mr Lorken climbed in to the driver’s side and purred the engine. No Ever, please God, no. This was surely not the ordained day, the day that after all the talking, the communication, the outpouring of love and the giving of time, and the realisation that this man had ultimately done no wrong to John Everett Millen, that Ever was still intent on seeing through his obsessive action, the consummation of his act. No, please God.

The Rolls moved away from the kerb and followed its well-worn route towards Beverly Hills; Lomita had no idea if Ever was following. Mr Lorken started on his Metzinger conversation again.

‘It’s not a personal attack, you must understand that. I like you, Lomita.’

There was no response from Lomita.

‘It is the righting of a wrong. Returning what belongs to a nation, a state, if you like. A justice. I would be seriously remiss if I ignored the situation. Don’t you think?’

The last words spoken with a turn of his head in the direction of his unresponsive passenger.