‘I wondered just where I stood. Do I get this house or have a share in Antibes? If Harry dies, I mean.’

‘First a caveat. I can only disclose the outlines of the will as they relate specifically to you, and only the outlines, so don’t ask me any detail about the rest of the estate. Of course if Sir Harry dies there will be a reading. I’ve looked at Sir Harry’s will to refresh my memory and you don’t get any property, except Tuscany, but you’re well provided for. He’s also designated some personal items for you, and you have a life right to use the villa, although you will have to share with the family according to any arrangement you agree with them. And you can stay in Mulgrave House with the permission of the trust. As I said, you inherit the cottage in Tuscany.’

Over the next forty minutes Fleur discovers that Harry has left her eight million from the family trust and an income of £200,000 a year, index linked, to be paid by the bank; he has also left her five of the pictures, mostly ones they bought together. But no Matisse or Bonnard or Seurat, and, obviously, not the Cézanne.

‘Sir Harry has stipulated that the trust will only pay the income as long as you remain unmarried. A long-term relationship, these days, has the same force in law but you may be able to challenge this provision in the High Court if and when.’

She seems to be looking at Fleur, calculating her chances.

When Amanda leaves after one expensive hour, plus travelling and research costs, Fleur feels diminished. Perhaps it’s the nature of the law to turn human life – love, emotion, et cetera – into a bill of goods. The human side of the transaction lags some way behind. Maybe these hotshot lawyers begin to imagine that they are the stars of any case and that the law is designed to give them an opportunity to show off their superior qualities. She thinks of those celebrity lawyers in Hollywood with the dead hair. She wonders why Harry would have stipulated that she doesn’t go on receiving the income if she marries again. Amanda enjoyed telling her that: she can still feel the lingering appraisal. She’s well preserved and having sex with a muscular young athlete; admittedly one with guttural English and some pretty bonkers ideas. Amanda has had two husbands and worn them out, Harry said. She lives with a Tory peer now. Eight million is nothing to Harry. It’s the sort of money every Tom, Dick and Harry in the City has now.