‘Where’s Liv?’ she asked.

‘Why?’

She shrugged.

‘How much did that awful car outside cost you?’ said Griff.

‘Our car?’ said Bea. ‘Why?’

‘It’s an opener.’

‘To what?’

‘Indulge me,’ said Griff. ‘How much?’

‘It was under a thousand.’

He stopped prowling the room to stand above her. ‘Let me get you a new one.’

She met his eye. ‘It’s kind of you, but no, thank you.’

‘What are you going to do when it breaks down?’

‘It might not,’ she said. ‘It’s an adventure.’

‘Be a better adventure in a new car.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t, maybe,’ he said, ‘what about Dan?’

Bea tried to make him hear her. ‘Neither of us wants a new car. Thank you,’ she said, steadily.

She started to get up, but Griff sat at the other end of the sofa, facing her. She hadn’t been alone in a room with him, she realised, since the day she’d left home. He’d summoned her to talk about money that day, too. Almost all his conversations were about money.

‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ he said. He looked pleased with himself, as if he was about to bring her down.

She jumped as Alex opened the door.

‘Your drink, sir. Madam, I took the liberty.’ He put the Campari in front of Griff and a glass of water for Bea. He winked at her and went, and closed the door behind him.

‘So. Dan. An artist, is he?’ said her father, eyeing her.

‘He’d like to be.’

‘You’d like him to be.’

She let it go.

‘Quite interesting you’ve found a husband who’s the total opposite of me, isn’t it?’

‘It might be interesting for you,’ said Bea. ‘You weren’t at the front of my mind.’

‘Never heard of Freud?’ said Griff, and laughed.

‘I can’t say I’ve heard of his “marrying someone different to your father” complex,’ said Bea. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

He leaned towards her. His eyes were pale blue like a baby’s eyes, vital in the ageing skin, piercing among the sunspots and the lines.

‘Look, darling, I know people. I know them well enough to gamble on them. I’ve built a career around it. Fifty years. Within a few minutes of talking to someone, I know what they want. Knowing what they want, I know how to deal with them.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ said Bea. She looked away from his face. She drank some water. The outside of the glass was wet. She put it down.

‘He won’t forgive you, you know,’ said Griff. ‘Dan. You’re holding him back.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Forcing him to play by your rules.’

‘No.’

‘Look, assuming he does want to be an artist,’ said Griff, ‘which, frankly, I doubt, are you seriously kidding yourself that he doesn’t think about your money?’

She began to feel sick. Her father pushed the air from the room.

‘Not everything is about money,’ she said, and felt ridiculous. She seemed to see her words change in the air, from butterflies to caterpillars, and herself reduced, shrink from woman to girl, transformed by his presence.