He chuckled. ‘Nobody does, really,’ he admitted. ‘Which means it’s all the more fun to play tour guide. I can show you all the best places, and not just because we’re desperate for you to join us here. I’m also very proud of where I’m from.’

‘Born and bred Antwerp?’ I asked, as he paused in front of a black Toyota hybrid, hitting his keys to open the boot and effortlessly slipping in my bag without breaking a sweat.

‘There’s not a square or street or food stall in this city I don’t know about.’ He smiled, hitting another button to automatically close the trunk and swiftly moving to open the passenger door for me. ‘You’ll see.’

Jules drove fast but confidently, tapping out the rhythm of the music singing out from the radio. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, I noticed, but he did mention his two little boys in passing, Mathis and Victor.

‘We’ll go to the lab,’ he explained, as we zipped through from the main roads to quieter back streets. ‘And after lunch we can check you into the hotel.’

It wasn’t a question, so I murmured my agreement and watched as we approached what was presumably the centre of town. Jules shot me a grin as the buildings started to change, satisfied that I’d noticed the beauty.

‘They say Antwerp is a world city on a human scale,’ he explained, turning the music down. ‘There’s always something to see and do and eat, but it’s mostly walkable and has a friendlier, more village-like feel than somewhere like London.’ He looked at me again, and I raised my eyebrows.

‘Would you be offended if I said I’m born and raised London, and so to me that’s the centre of the universe?’ I countered. I didn’t even know if I meant that, but I felt compelled to stick up for the place I was from.

He laughed. ‘Noted!’ he said. ‘And for the record, I love London. But we’ve had a couple of people transfer over here, and everyone says how nice it is to slow down. That London is a bit treadmill-y – you just keep going and going and going.’

‘Fair enough. I have been wanting to slow down lately,’ I admitted. ‘A change of scenery could be nice.’ As we pulled up to the kerb in a small side street a man who looked like Patrick passed by, and my heart skipped a beat until I realized that of course it wasn’t him. How could it be? Jules parked up and looked at his watch as I fingered my phone in my pocket, resisting the urge to see if Patrick had sent a text.

‘Coffee?’ Jules asked, executing the perfect parallel park.

‘Please,’ I replied, taking my hand out of my pocket like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.