Amanda is dressed in her weekend clothes, jeans and a waistcoat over a plaid shirt. He’s never seen her in jeans before and he thinks she is like one of those people who give up glasses for contact lenses but forever look as if they are missing something.

‘Thanks, Jade. Morning, Mrs Porter.’

‘Morning, Mr Trevelyan-Tubal. Good to meet you.’

She’s no actress, that’s for sure. When Jade has gone, he says, ‘Don’t give up the day job.’

Amanda, ever businesslike, smiles coldly and produces two huge files from her bag. They set to work on the deeds of the family trust.

‘By the way, Julian, I spoke to Fleur. She asked me to let her know what she was entitled to. Where she stood, is how she put it.’

‘With my power of attorney, I don’t think she can make any decisions without us, do you?’

‘No, anything that affects the trust, no, nor anything that your father put in place.’

‘Look, I hate to get nasty, but if she cuts up rough, I have something on her.’

‘Let’s keep that on the back burner. On a need-to-know basis only.’

‘OK. Just put the documents in front of me.’

He signs, and she witnesses that he is signing on behalf of his father, incapacitated, attested to by Mr David St John Abbott, FRCS in a medical report, attached. It takes just half an hour. As ever, she’s well prepared. No ethical questions are raised or discussed. Amanda deals strictly in the law. Julian calls Jade to show Mrs Porter out. As she leaves the office he looks at her rear. It’s not out of prurience but simple curiosity; it’s usually hidden by jackets and pleats. She’s wearing the expensive kind of jeans that, with all their stitching and tailoring, seem to be apologising for being jeans at all. Amanda’s bottom is apple-shaped, he now knows. A large, cooking-apple shape.