But she was right there with the times. Right there in so many ways, smelling as she had, on both occasions, when proximity allowed, as this did, of Chanel and order; she exuded a sense of perfection, right down to her appreciation of the little details of the things of life. Something he so admired, and was determined to force into his life.

An adoption of a style.

Ever’s monologue about the Sultan had brought a silence to the proceedings which he regretted. The martinis arrived, the waiter with a real expertise had waited for this pause in the conversation to bring their drinks, and they requested a little more time to decide on the food. Ever’s need to impart his knowledge, to give himself a confidence by informing people of things they didn’t seem to know, was, he had always felt, a compulsive weakness.

Don’t give it all away, just let it dribble out.

In impressive

and unexpected moments of wow.

And then you can

wow.

Then it works.

‘It’s not that in any way I support anybody or any regime as horrible as this one that you are talking about, it’s just I find that if you cut those kind of people out of life, I mean certainly in my life, then really very little ever happens. Do you think all those Russians who own your football clubs, or soccer, or whatever you call it. Do you think their money is in any way honest, do you not think they’ve inflicted atrocities on human beings to get where they are?’

She took a large mouthful of the martini before continuing.

‘Banks, for Christ’s sake, hedge funders betting on the futures markets, crippling economies, shorting on food supplies, copper, gold. I am sorry to be supporting this shithead, but I want to eat. What do you want? I’m having the Caesar salad, what do you want?’

Ever was a little taken back, filled with a surprise at her knowledge, even though it suffered from a few inexactitudes clouded by emotion; he was reluctant to get into the specifics and defence of any of her general argument in detail, but she had more than a goddam point.