‘It was my wife who said I ought to get my head out of my ass and start being more of a people person,’ he says. ‘And I’m grateful for that.’ He raises his glass. ‘Here’s to gratitude. And wise counsel.’

Erik nods, chinks his glass. Dag follows suit, though isn’t quite sure of the tone of the conversation. Is Tom saying he had planned not to mentor him?

When Dag gets up to use the facilities, Erik leans in close.

‘How are your daughters?’ he asks. ‘Gaia, no? Coco? That’s their names?’

His eyes flick over a photograph of the two girls on a shelf behind Tom. Beautiful girls. So little.

Tom studies his fingernails. ‘They’re fine,’ he says. ‘I have a nanny. She cares for them. And a housekeeper.’

Erik leans in. ‘I don’t mean are they getting food on the table and clean clothes,’ he says, raising his eyebrows. ‘I mean, how are they? Without their mother? Only gone a matter of months. It must be hard. For you as well.’

Tom’s throat is burning now. He swallows back the anger that has shot into him and nods.

‘It is hard,’ he says softly. ‘They miss their mother very much.’

‘And you?’ Erik says, with kindness in his voice.

Tom rubs his eyes. He’d prefer not to talk about this, not to open up. His mother still emails quotes from Marcus Aurelius, and occasionally his brother will text asking after the build. Few people ask him how he is.

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

Erik says nothing. It’s a crap answer to give to anyone, let alone another widower. That’s what he is, he remembers. A widower. The term changes nothing.

‘I don’t know how I am,’ he says. ‘Grateful? Yes. I’m grateful.’ Erik looks confused, so Tom elucidates. ‘I have two beautiful girls. And I had ten years with the most incredible woman I have ever met. Or ever will meet.’ He picks up his glass of vodka and drains it to steady the wobble in his voice.

‘If I can give a word of advice,’ Erik says gravely.

Oh please, yes, Tom thinks. Definitely give me advice, I can think of nothing I’d like more.

‘Don’t work too hard,’ Erik says. Tom waits. Was that the advice? Or was there something in between that he missed? He blinks. Yes, he realizes. That was the advice.

‘Don’t work too hard,’ he repeats, trying to pluck the meaning out of those words.