But Calvin was a regular guy. He took her bowling and made her laugh. He might be a rough diamond—she knew people sneered at him—but that was fine. Who cared about their opinions? He certainly didn’t give a toss. It thrilled her, hearing about his crazy adventures in the outback. She’d never met anyone like him. He’d no interest in flaunting her in restaurants, the paparazzi nonsense, nothing like that.

And Calvin didn’t jump her, not at first. He played the long game. This intrigued her. Finally he said, Come to bed. Honest, it’s so small you’ll hardly notice. This sent her into such paroxysms of laughter that she had a choking fit. Calvin the paramedic came to her aid. And when they finally collapsed, giggling, into bed she totally surrendered herself. She trusted him, and until then she’d never trusted anyone in her life.

Silly woman.

Another thing about Angela, almost the most important thing: she was rich. Her father was the Marquis of Something and had a baronial pile in Wiltshire. Like much of the aristocracy they were a pretty dysfunctional lot, drink and drugs running through them like a fault line, various siblings in and out of The Priory’s revolving door. Calvin called them alco-toffs and despised the lot of them. Indeed, he found the entire British class system baffling.

When Angela was thirty her trust fund matured. Though she was considered something of an airhead she invested wisely, due to having a banker boyfriend at the time, a dull German who had enough money for them both. She’d also hoped to secure her children’s future, a hope that was dashed when she found she was infertile. She was still mourning this when she met Calvin.

‘I didn’t marry her for her money,’ said Calvin. ‘Straight up, that’s the honest truth.’

What difference did it make? Did he really think I cared? People can have a strange set of priorities.

These conversations took place when Calvin was on remand in Belmarsh Prison. His friends had faded away; I seemed to be one of his few visitors. After my initial horror I had a compulsion to see him, during those weeks before his sentencing. I had so many questions; I needed answers and he opened up. In fact, he was eager to talk; I had the feeling that it was something of a relief. He’d already pleaded guilty, which meant a shorter sentence, and maybe he felt he had nothing to lose.