Andy turned up for their meeting – she did not let herself think of it as a date – looking as if he’d actually made a bit of an effort. He had a tendency, during their married life, to dress like a tramp, especially when he was in the middle of a big project, as she knew he was now. He was designing a conference centre in Dubai, he said on the phone. So much for the eco-warrior she married. On this occasion he was wearing a crisp white shirt – either fresh from the packet or actually ironed, which would be a first – and a nice dark brown suit with the faintest of grey pinstripes running through the fabric. It suited him well. He always did look handsome in a suit. Well, he looked handsome in anything, with that bone structure and that wonderful black skin . . .

‘You look amazing,’ Andy said, standing up when Christine walked into the restaurant. That was a first too: being on time for something.

‘Thank you, kind sir.’

‘The single life obviously suits you.’

A few weeks ago, that would have needled Christine, and they’d have been bickering even before they’d ordered drinks. Now she just said ‘Yes, I rather think it does.’ He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down. Her lawyer’s mind wondered briefly ‘what does he want?’, but then she saw the drinks menu.

‘Oh, cocktails! Shall we?’

‘Why not? That’ll be a blast from the past.’ As students, they had blown their grants on trips to then-smart cocktail bars for over-garnished drinks with embarrassing names.

‘I don’t suppose a classy joint like this would do a Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall,’ said Christine, half under her breath.

‘And I don’t imagine they could give me an Orgasm either,’ said Andy. ‘Would you settle for a Manhattan? You used to like them.’

‘I still do.’

Andy ordered the drinks, allowing Christine a moment’s reflection. Were they here to talk about ‘us’?

They made small talk about work. Both were doing well. He justified his work in Dubai by saying that the conference centre would be carbon neutral. She said that she was only interested in taking silk because it would allow her to spend more time concentrating on the cases that really mattered. They both nodded in agreement, and withheld judgement.

They did not ask about their personal lives. Christine could not know whether Ben or Isabelle had told their father about Joel; it was possible, but Andy was too polite to mention it. He said nothing about his mistress – the one for whom he had sacrificed his marriage – although Christine had heard through mutual friends that the grass had not turned out to be so green on that side of the fence. Perhaps that’s why he was being so attentive . . .

‘I’m glad to get you on your own for once,’ he said, when they’d had a few mouthfuls of the main course.