‘Right.’ Dan’s blue eyes caught hers, then flicked quickly away. ‘Get him to give me a call some time, would you? Small matter of money.’

‘Oh. I hope everything is . . .’

‘Yes, fine. You know what it’s like. Cash flow, and all that.’

‘Will calls it the money-go-round.’

‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his chin, making a scratching sound. She remembered how his stubble felt on her face when he kissed her once – when? Before New York . . . ‘The thing is, not much money is going round at the moment. Which isn’t much fun for any of us.’

‘Is there something I should know?’

‘I’m sure everything’s fine. But you might want to have a word with Will about the Rivelli account.’

She scowled. ‘Oh, Christ, that bloody man. Sorry. It just seems that everywhere I go, he’s there. He’s already . . .’

Stop. He might not know about Mum.

‘He’s done this sort of thing before,’ said Dan, who knew exactly how much financial trouble Rivelli was in, but did not listen to the gossip about why. ‘You just have to watch him.’

‘You told me he was okay.’

‘He is. He’s more than okay. He’s the best manufacturer in the business. But his services come at a price.’

‘Oh God . . .’

He put a hand on her upper arm. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Just get Will to call me. I will sort everything out. I promise you.’

He had that look in his eyes, as if he was about to ask her out again, and Isabelle suddenly felt afraid. ‘Well, Dan, thanks for the tip.’ A waiter came between them, offering drinks, giving her the perfect chance to escape. ‘I expect I’ll see you around.’

Andy came back from the loo looking twice the man he had been before; Christine almost wondered if he’d taken something. His back was straighter, his eyes brighter, the old spark reignited.

‘I’ve come to a momentous decision,’ he said, lowering himself into his seat in a way that contrived to show off the strength of his arms. He’d always had strong arms, Christine remembered. ‘I’m going to ask you out for dinner.’

‘Oh.’

‘Is that all you can say? “Oh”?’

‘No. I mean, what do you mean?’

‘For a professional advocate, you’re pretty crap at asking questions.’

‘Don’t you start,’ said Christine, who had not yet shared her recent disappointment. ‘I shall rephrase. When you say that you are going to ask me out for dinner, Mr Cissé, do you simply mean that you want to discuss our children, or do you have an ulterior motive?’

‘Very ulterior, I’m afraid.’

‘In that case, I have no choice but to accept.’

‘Good show.’

They ate in a small Italian restaurant that had already been old fashioned when they were first going out together, but the food was good. They both had saltimbocca and ice cream.