‘Anyway, it’s Fleur. Maybe you should warn her?’

‘Simon, how the fuck am I going to do that? Dad’s dying, she’s all over the place. All I can do is make some enquiries about his Morné, or at least have somebody speak to him.’

‘Has she got access to the trusts in any way?’

‘No. I have sorted them out. But she’s got plenty of her own with more to come. She’s an adult and Dad is definitely not long for this world. I’ll deal with it when the time is right. Are you OK?’

‘Perfect. You won’t be able to call me for at least three weeks. We’re off in an hour. Just thought I should warn you.’

‘OK, thanks. Strange world: I am standing in the gardens about to play tennis, and you are heading off to be a crocodile’s lunch. Bye.’

‘Different strokes for different folks.’

He says something in what is probably an African language. Wherever he travels he picks up a few significant phrases, so presumably this is goodbye, something like, Travel well until the crocodile eats the sun.

He wonders who his brother’s travelling companions are. Julian’s companions, his tennis chums, are already on the court.

Winter honeysuckle. He catches the scent now from the direction of the summer house. Each week they perform a sort of mummers’ play on the tennis court, with the roles long ago set firm. Julian is not chairman of a bank here, but a man with a reliable serve and a suspect backhand, so he never plays in the backhand court. They always have the same partners, unless they need to call up one of the reserves. Julian feels oddly nervous before tennis, as though it matters how he plays. Although he doesn’t think of himself as competitive, he feels strangely fulfilled by winning. Tennis demands aggression and control. You have to get the balance just right. He can’t wait to get going, but experience has taught him never to start until he has hit at least five long balls, in and deep. He and Nigel face Freddie and Dieter. They stretch a bit now and then they spin a racket to decide who’s going to serve. The gardens are still with expectation. The honeysuckle scent reaches them in gusts. Nigel calls successfully and hands the balls to Julian. Julian goes for his flat, down-the-middle serve and it comes off. Freddie is miles away from it. 15–0.