‘Chocolate,’ I said. ‘Theobroma cacao, the food of the gods. Make it with pure ground cocoa beans, chillies, cinnamon and just enough sugar to take away the bitterness. That’s how the Mayans used to make it, over two thousand years ago. They used it in ceremonies to give themselves courage. They gave it to their sacrificial victims just before they ripped out their hearts. And they used it in orgies that lasted for hours.’

She stared at me with widened eyes.

‘So you see – it can be dangerous.’ I smiled. ‘Better not to have too much.’

I was still smiling when she left the shop with a box of twelve truffles in her hand.

Meanwhile, from another life—

Françoise Lavery made the papers. Seems I was wrong about the bank’s camera footage: the police got a fairly good set of pictures of my last visit, and some colleague or other recognized Françoise. Of course, further investigation proved that there was no Françoise and that her story was fake from beginning to end. The results are somewhat predictable. A rather grainy staff photograph of the suspect appeared in the evening paper, followed by several editorials, suggesting that she might have had more sinister motives for her imposture than money. It was even possible, gloated Paris-Soir, that she may have been a sexual predator, targeting young boys.

As if, as Annie would say. Still, it makes for a good headline, and I expect to see that photograph several times more before its newsworthiness fades. Not that it troubles me at all. No one would see Zozie de l’Alba in that mousy little piece of work. In fact most of my colleagues would have been hard-put to see Françoise herself – glamours don’t transfer well to celluloid, which is why I never tried for a career in the movies, and the photograph looks less like Françoise and more like a girl I used to know, the girl who was always It at St Michael’s-on-the-Green.

I don’t often think about that girl now. Poor girl, with her bad skin and her freak mother with the feathers in her hair. What chance did she have?

Well, she had the same chance everyone has; the chance you’re dealt the day you are born, the only chance. And some spend their lives making excuses, and blaming the cards, and wishing they’d had better ones, and some of us just play the hand, and up the stakes, and use every trick, and cheat where we can—

And win. And win. Which is all that matters. I like to win. I’m a very good player.

The question is, where to begin? Certainly, Annie could do with a little help – something to boost her confidence, to start her on the right path.