‘There you are, my boy. How are you, Jack?’

Jack narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m fine. I see you’re feeling better.’ He kept his voice neutral. The kitchen brought back a lot of good memories, and a few not so good ones. He knew every pot and pan in there, every plate on the hob, every grill, every dish. It felt so … comfortable.

Roland tasted whatever was in the pot. ‘More salt,’ he said to one of the chefs. ‘And a pinch of pepper, please. How can you cook if you can’t season the food?’

Jack waited and watched. Roland talked to the new chef in the same way he had talked to him. Patronising and charming. Still so French after fifty years in London, he seemed like he’d arrived the day before.

Roland put the spoon in the sink and came over to him with outstretched arms. ‘It’s so good to see you again, mon cher garçon.’ He hugged Jack and kissed him on both cheeks.

‘Why am I here, Roland?’ Jack pulled away, annoyed with the niceties.

Roland stepped back with an expression of mock surprise. ‘Straight to the point, I see. You haven’t changed a bit.’

‘I left a few weeks ago, Roland. That’s not much time to change,’ Jack said.

‘No, no, I detect a difference in you. I told you, years ago, that you should always make sure you have a holiday every year. The time in Norway seems to have done wonders for you. That’s good. It means that you are rested and eager to come back to work, oui?’

Jack smiled slowly. ‘Are you offering me my job back? You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.’

Roland pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry we parted on such angry terms, but all this bitterness will do you more harm than good, I’m afraid. We can do better than that, I’m sure. I have a proposal for you. Will you hear me out?’

Jack looked at the other two chefs in the kitchen. They were staring at them, curious and quiet. Fedra leaned her hip against the counter, watching him with a small smile.

‘Let’s talk in the restaurant,’ Roland said.

Jack realised they had wanted him to see the kitchen, to become nostalgic about it. Were they always this transparent? Probably. He decided to let them play it out.

Roland chose a table by the window. He was dressed in his usual handmade suit, a little scarf perfectly folded in the front pocket and his hair as perfect as his daughter’s. As always.

‘Can you bring us coffee, Fedra? Jack looks like he could do with a cup, and so do I.’

‘You’re not allowed to drink coffee, Daddy. I’ll bring you tea.’

Roland frowned. ‘It’s a terrible day when your children start bossing you around.’

Fedra scoffed. ‘Get used to it, Daddy. Don’t upset him, Jack. He’s still not well. Even if he pretends he is.’

Jack waited until she left before turning to Roland. ‘Is it true? You’re ill?’