They heard Ari’s footsteps on the stairs and turned as he came back in. ‘Don’t look so nervous,’ Matty laughed. ‘It’s honestly only a chat. Clover’s a pussycat, you should know that by now.’

They had caught him on the hop at breakfast, announcing they were interviewing him this morning. He had had a few minutes to get ready, but no chance to tell Kit. She had timed it deliberately, wanting to get him off guard while Kit was doing his usual morning training session downstairs in the gym, and the closer mood fostered by last night’s impromptu gathering was still warm and beating.

Ari had changed into a collared shirt for the interview. Clover had never seen him look so smart; it had the effect of giving him no neck. He looked preternaturally uncomfortable.

‘Just come and sit over here,’ Matty said, ushering him to the chair on the far side of the fireplace. Zell am See and the lake fanned out beyond his left shoulder.

Clover, already sitting in the chair opposite, kept smiling reassuringly as he shifted position, tugging at his shirt cuffs, shrugging forward his arms, stretching out his neck. She half-wondered whether he thought he was here for a wrestling match.

Matty poured him a glass of water from the carafe. They had moved the small side table which had supported the chess set – not now in play, of course – to beside his chair; she found interviewees were more relaxed if they felt there was a facility by which they could take a break and look away from the camera.

Ari looked back at her, tense and hesitant. There was nothing now of the bon viveur of last night who had been pouring the drinks, calling out song requests, playing card games. He had shaved, but roughly, the scars on his cheeks still flecked with steel-grey bristles.

Johnny began filming, Matty snapping the clapperboard card between them.

‘Okay then.’ She looked Ari straight in the eyes and smiled at him as warmly as she could. ‘So Ari, could you begin by telling me how you first met Kit?’

His shoulders loosened in reply. This he could answer. ‘Sure. It was at a surfing competition in Byron Bay. He was twelve, I’d just turned seventeen. I’d heard his name about; I kept hearing about this tiny kid going up against guys four, five years older; how he was in everyone’s faces, didn’t give a fu—’ His eyes opened wide. ‘Shit, sorry, can you bleep that out?’

She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Just be you. We’ll deal with anything excessive in the edit room.’