He looked thoughtful. ‘Surely one doesn’t stop being an anthropologist – just because one isn’t doing anthropology. Would I stop being an artist if I stopped painting? I’m not sure about that.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Domenica. ‘Does a doctor stop being a doctor when he or she stops practising? I don’t think so. He could resume practice.’

Angus looked up at the ceiling. Talking to Domenica sometimes required one to think really hard – rather harder than he was accustomed to thinking. She was like a sudoku, in a way – not that he should make that comparison openly. He pulled his thoughts together. ‘But a politician doesn’t remain a politician once he’s out of politics, does he? Or a plumber?’

‘The politician – no. The plumber, yes, because it’s a skill. Rather like the doctor. That’s the difference, perhaps. If the description of what you are is based on a skill, then that’s what you remain.’

A further thought occurred to Angus. ‘What if you want to stop being something and people say, “No, you can’t stop being that,” because once you’re it, you’re it for life? What then?’

Domenica rose to make coffee. ‘Give me an example.’

Angus shrugged. ‘Oh, membership of a religious faith, for example. Some groups say you can’t get out. If you’re in, then you’re in and that’s it.’

‘Apostasy,’ said Domenica. ‘Yes, that’s difficult. It depends on whether you accept the group’s view. I wouldn’t – in most cases.’

‘If I joined the Mafia,’ said Angus, ‘would I be a mafioso forever? Or would I stop being one if I resigned?’

‘I don’t think you can resign,’ said Domenica. She paused, and smiled at Angus indulgently. ‘But I wouldn’t call you a mafioso for the rest of your life. I would call you a reformed mafioso.’

‘But the label would always be there?’ asked Angus. ‘It wouldn’t ever go away?’

It took Domenica some time to answer this. And when she did answer, she was brief. ‘No, it wouldn’t go away,’ she said.

Angus raised an eyebrow. ‘So one can never change? Not completely?’

That, she accepted, seemed hard. Could we never become something different from what we started off as? People did change – they clearly did, and she knew many examples of people whom she knew who had changed completely. Angus himself had changed, she thought. He was far less … how would one put it? Difficult? And even Cyril … She stopped. That was the example for which she had been searching.

‘Cyril,’ she said. ‘Take him as an example. Whatever moral effort Cyril made – no matter how hard he tried – he would still be a dog, wouldn’t he? It’s the same with us. There are some things about us that are fundamental to our identity – things we can’t change. That bit always remains.’