They both were laughing, that was his spontaneous reaction to her infectious noise. And for the first time the dinner relaxed, she poured more wine for herself, then stood for the first time that evening. In her stand she groaned.

‘My God, pain is a curse. Just getting a little cramp.’

She walked slowly around the table. She was dressed in a long silk dressing gown of a wild pattern of flowers and birds. Dramatic. Ever thought that it was probably Hermès; that was the most expensive brand that came to mind.

‘Do you like it, my gown?’

She did a little, delicate and slow twirl.

‘Pucci, fabulous eh? Made for me in 1969. I look after things, you see. Beautiful isn’t it?’

It was. She completed her walk around the table, she came around behind him, rested her hands on his shoulders, lowered her head towards his, then draped her body like a shawl across his back and said, very quietly,

‘Do we like each other, truly? Do we trust each other, truly? I don’t do that easily and if you’re thinking about revenge, my sweet, I can tell you some things about revenge that may make you change your mind. That is, if your mind has both the capability and capacity to receive the information.’

She smiled with affection. He was unable to see it, but sensed the warmth in the moment.

‘I just don’t know if we have reached any kind of point that I can tell you. I don’t tell anyone. So why you? Except I rarely like people. And I like you.’

Ever was at his most immobile and silent. He could feel her breath, smell the wine and that perfume, that smell of hers that he had never smelt on anyone before. She kissed his cheek and moved back into her wheelchair.

‘My film, Christ, I said that to you, what was I on? My film. No, my sweet, we are not going to watch that.’

The singular indicated more than just the existence of a solitary film in her life; she had picked out the word as if it were a mouldy fruit in a bowl.