‘Hi. Come in, Arthur. Lovely to see you. Yoo hoo. Rebecca. Arthur’s here!’ she yelled.

When I appeared, she was already pouring the drinks. Arthur had brought flowers for me; a dozen red roses. My mother nodded knowingly as she arranged them in a vase. Belgian truffles buttered up the cook.

‘Well, Arthur, what do you do for a living?’

The guest lounged back in his chair. While he complimented my mother on the food, I put on classical music in the background but I didn’t light any candles.

‘No candles tonight?’ My mother couldn’t help herself. She usually moaned about potential fire hazards every time I struck a match.

‘It’s good to see what you’re eating,’ I said. I kept the bright centre light on over the table. It was an incongruous accompaniment to the red roses which screamed from the sideboard.

‘I’m a pharmacist by trade. I used to own a chemist’s shop in Golders Green but now work freelance. I sell medicines for pharmaceutical companies to different health organisations. I travel a lot.’ Arthur’s smile showed off his small even white teeth. His thin lips were moist.

‘Sounds very highbrow,’ my mother simpered. ‘I used to be an actress.’

As they chatted, I learnt more about Arthur. He’s an only child. His father abandoned his mother when he was a small boy; seven or eight, I think he said. His mother never remarried but, until recently, was with a long-term partner, Ted. They used to spend a lot of time in Italy where Ted owned a small apartment overlooking the shores of Lake Trasimeno.

Arthur didn’t pry into my past. He asked casual non-probing questions. However, he seemed to know some things about me which I was certain I hadn’t told him.

‘You lived in Darwin, Rebecca. I’d love to go to Australia one day. It’s somewhere I’ve never been.’

Perhaps I had mentioned Australia but I was certain that Darwin had never come up. It must have been over snatched coffees at the gym that I told him I’d worked in an art gallery in Knightsbridge, but I couldn’t remember.

‘Roger Pennington hanged himself. I remember that,’ Arthur said. He sipped thoughtfully at his wine.

My mother interjected every so often in an endeavour to turn interest back in her direction. She reminisced over my father. ‘He was the love of my life. We did everything together. I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d run off with someone else.’

‘That’s the way it should be, Hazel. My mother and Ted lived in each other’s pockets too.’

I wondered at Arthur’s ability to always say the right thing; no hint of contrivance.

It was only towards the end of the evening that Arthur found my Achilles heel.

‘Have you ever been married, Rebecca? I never thought to ask before,’ he said.