‘I don’t think you were around when I left,’ I said. ‘I thanked everyone in sight.’

‘I know. Everyone was very grateful. Your daughter came back and made a donation.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘You’re lucky to have her. I take it she’s gone home?’

The way she said it made me pay attention to her voice. It was basically Californian but with an underlying tingle of something else. ‘You’re Australian,’ I said.

‘I was, still am at heart, but I’m a US citizen now by marriage. No hubby any longer, but a kid and a good job.’

I looked up at the clear blue sky and nodded. ‘Living in climate heaven.’

She shook her head. Her face had the sort of lines that come from experiences good and bad but mostly good.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I yearn for Sydney’s seasons. Even a bloody hailstorm.’

The Australian accent became slightly more pronounced with every word, the way it can when the other person is a genuine speaker.

‘I suppose it might get you down over time,’ I said, ‘but just now it’s perfect for my purposes.’

‘I heard you say you were a private detective.’

‘I was. I’m. . retired.’

‘You might still be able to help me. Could I buy you a cup of coffee?’

It was close to midday. ‘What about a beer?’ I said.

She had a nice smile. ‘Why not, although it’d horrify my colleagues.’

We walked back towards the bar where Megan and I had sat and I told her about Megan’s surprise at being asked for ID.

‘Americans can be very funny about drinking. I know some who’d never dream of having a beer during the day or a glass of wine with their meals, but get bombed on cocktails every night.’

‘Unhealthy,’ I said.

We sat at a shaded table and ordered two Coors, which a little experimentation had taught me was the beer closest to my taste. The frosted bottles and glasses came; we poured.