‘Jules, the staff have asked me to tell Mr Julian how so sorry they are about the governor.’

Julian is touched. They all loved the old tyrant. In the hospital he felt a sense of utter futility. His father – the tenth generation of Tubals, chairman of this and that, philanthropist, lover of the ballet, driven around all his life in a huge Bentley – ends up a sea creature, brain dead, his hands flexing and unflexing, mouth opening and closing as though he is sieving the water for minute particles of plankton.

That afternoon Fleur is shown in by Mr Abbott’s registrar. She is wearing dark glasses, although it’s raining outside. She’s struggling with her demeanour. She spoke briefly to Bryce before she left Antibes. He understands. He’s a great bloke. Everything happens for a purpose, he says. He thinks that is just about all the philosophy you need. There’s a long tradition of great blokes south of the equator, where both her lovers originate. Great blokes hide their feelings and their highest ambition is to be chilled. Life is a sort of enjoyable progress that can only be ruined by introspection.

‘I understand, Fleur, you don’t have to worry about me blabbing. Just bad timing. See you one day, yeah?’

‘Thanks, Bryce, thanks.’

‘No worries. You’re a real honey.’

She wondered exactly what the qualities of a honey were. Now the registrar takes her into the ITU and she sees her husband lying on his back with his eyes blinking and staring as if he is trying to find something he has lost. She starts to cry. The registrar brings a chair. It’s one of those chairs you only find in hospitals with curved blond-wood arms and functional blue plastic seats, designed to provide no hiding place for human secretions or germs. She’s not yet quite grasped the notion of widowhood. She feels as if she is grappling with the role, working her way into it. She wipes her nose and sniffs. She removes her huge dark glasses, which have inlays, almost mosaics, in the side-pieces.

‘Can he hear anything?’ she asks.

‘He can’t process the sound even if he can hear it. Shall I leave you for a few minutes?’