She waves her hand at a passing waiter, who immediately changes direction to hover by our table. We start to look at the menu. From the sea. Fish. From the land. Meat. Not even a vegetarian option, let alone vegan. I order a side salad. Jenny Bletchley goes for chicken and honey-roasted carrots. The waiter taps the order through to the kitchen on his iPhone, and disappears.

My dinner companion puts her elbows on the table and leans forwards. ‘How would you handle this?’ she asks. ‘I’ve made a lot of money after investing in a disused oil well in Kazakhstan. Unexpectedly we discovered more oil. I’ve made another five million sterling. I want to bring the money back to the UK without paying tax on it.’

I take a sip of mineral water and shake my head. ‘You can’t. If you want to avoid paying tax on money earnt abroad that’s fine. But you need to live abroad. Switzerland is a good option.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snaps. ‘I can’t live in Switzerland. My family and my business are here.’

‘I know the rules. You can reside in Switzerland without becoming a Swiss citizen, and still enter the UK for a substantial number of weeks a year. Different Swiss cantons have different rules. But in some the tax breaks are phenomenal. After all, now, with modern technology you can work from anywhere in the world.’

She narrows her eyes. ‘I’ve just told you that I don’t want to live anywhere in the world. I want to live here.’

I sigh inside. ‘Well then, we’re going to have to look at schemes to create artificial losses to whitewash the profits you bring into the country. I don’t particularly like them but let me look at it and get back to you. If you become my client, I would have a proposal for you within one week, even if I have to work day and night. I told you I provide a 24/7 service.’

‘Well, hang fire for now. I want to sleep on it over the weekend.’

Our food arrives. I don’t feel like eating the limp salad. It’s Friday night. I wanted her to commit. I poke at my food and resent being left in limbo. I just want to go home and watch TV with Miles.

110

Caprice

My son is in my boudoir walking towards me with a cup of tea, and a plate containing a Kit-Kat and some lemon drizzle cake. So handsome. Such a credit to me. Only a fine-looking woman could have given birth to an Adonis like him. He places the tea and carbohydrate on my bedside table.

‘Thank you, dear.’

‘Are you OK, Mum? You’ve been so tired lately. You’re not eating very much. I’ve brought you a few treats to fatten you up.’

I smile at his concern. His kindness. So empathetic.