Freddie pulled a pink ball out of the corner pocket and spun it in his palm before gently setting it on a dot on the felt. “About that,” he said. “She’s not in the picture anymore.” He scooped up other balls and laid them out in their designated spots. “It would seem that dating the third in line to the throne, or the second, or whatever I am right now, is not very appealing to a person who’s trying a case against ISIS at the UN next week.”

“She broke up with you?”

He nodded ruefully. “Didn’t want the publicity,” he said. “She told me she’d worked too hard for this job to gamble it on me. Said nobody at work would respect her anymore.”

I whistled low and long. “Damn. She didn’t exactly let you down easy.”

“It seems I am drawn to women who don’t pull their punches,” Freddie said.

I took the cube of chalk and rubbed it on the tip of my cue. “I’m sorry, Freddie. You seemed to like her.”

“I did,” he said. “She kept me on my toes. She was brilliant. I liked the idea that maybe, in the view of a person like that, I was worth being with.”

“You are,” I said. “Of course you are.”

“Not to her, apparently,” he said, and the sadness gnawing at the edges of his tone also ate away at me.

“Well, she’s just one person,” I said. “We are not giving up.”

“We?” he laughed. “Thanks for the support, Killer, but I’d better sort out my sex life on my own this time.” He paused. “I suppose it’s too soon to make jokes like that.”

“Probably,” I said. “But you can have that one for free.”

He grinned, and straightened. “Right,” he said. “As long as we’re in the cone of silence, let me confess that I haven’t ever properly learnt how to play this bloody game and I don’t understand why they show so much of it on the telly. I was only coming in here earlier because there is a stash of excellent brandy in the bar that Father forgot he left here, and I like to save it for special occasions. Like being dumped.”

A bolt of tension passed through us as I wondered, without wanting to, whether he’d come in here on another night, looking for that same brandy.

“I suppose I have you to thank in a way,” he added, aiming for lightness. “I never took women or dating particularly seriously before, but I’ve realized that I want to, and I can.” He gave me a tentative smile. “Can we drink to that?”

I glanced at my watch. “It’s happy hour somewhere, as they say.”

“I’ll pour the hooch if you’ll Google the snooker rules.”