After a few minutes Mr Tan sat back and the other two men talked to each other. One of them, Gary could see, was quite fat with grey hair. The other a sparely built man. Both wore grey suits. Doctors? Or dealers?

Gary leaned on his right hand and spoke softly to his wrist. ‘Hope you’ve clocked the two guys.’

After another twenty minutes of intense conversation the two men nodded to each other as if they were in agreement, at which point Mr Tan reached into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope which he handed to the fatter of the two men who slipped it into his inside pocket.

After a few more pleasantries the two men got up to leave. They shook Mr Tan by the hand and walked across the lounge, up the stairs and out into the lobby.

Gary looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes to go. He got up and walked across the lounge to the gentlemen’s cloakroom where he went into a cubicle, locked the door and once more checked the contents of the case. He sat down on the closed lid of the lavatory and thought through his approach once more. He checked his watch again. One minute to go. He stood up, flushed the lavatory, waited a moment, then unlocked the door and walked out. The attendant who brushed the shoulders of his jacket for him gave him a knowing wink. He was one of Ben Atkinson’s sidekicks.

Gary straightened his tie in the mirror, picked up the case, took a deep breath and walked out of the cloakroom and into the lounge. It was exactly three o’clock.

Christopher needed air. And space. He pushed the wheelbarrow across the garden and through the sea of daffodils down to the bottom of the orchard. There, on the banks of the stream, he sat on the wooden bench and watched the water trickling by. It had been a dry winter. The stream was shallow and playful in its notes, not the deep and tumbling torrent that it could be. He tossed a twig into the water and watched it slowly pirouetting out of sight. How different it used to be, when they played here with the children. Where was she now? he wondered. She was still not answering her phone. He had called her twice at lunchtime. He would call again this evening. And if she were not there? What then? Supposing she had changed her mind? What if she decided that there was clearly no point in pursuing this relationship any more? Could he still turn back the clock?

The questions came thick and fast, but the answers did not. What must she have assumed from his attitude? Damn! Why had he been so negative?