I eased back from the screen after absorbing this information.

‘A good bloke,’ I said.

Spending too many days alone, I was beginning to talk to myself. It was definitely time to get in touch with other people. I phoned Margaret McKinley and told her I’d found the material she’d sent both helpful and worrying and that I was relaying it to a colleague in Australia with a recommendation that he begin an enquiry.

‘Thanks, Cliff. Won’t he need. . what’s it called? A retainer?’

‘He’ll need a contract, but we can deal with all that later. I’m booking a flight home for next week and I’ll take it up with him then. His name’s Hank Bachelor. He’s an American, as it happens. Resident in Australia. The reverse of you.’

‘Globalisation,’ she said.

I laughed. ‘Right. Can I see you before I head off?’

We met at a middle-range restaurant of her choice on the edge of the old town, walking distance from my flat. Margaret wore a dress, heels and a linen jacket; I wore a blazer, freshly dry-cleaned trousers and shirt, no tie. We’d dressed for what it was-somewhere between a date and a business meeting. That could have felt uncomfortable but it didn’t. There was a confident easiness about her that communicated itself to me and we were soon chatting, ordering-oysters, fish, boiled potatoes and salad both- and enjoying ourselves. The place was busy without being packed and the service was casual but efficient. We had a bottle of Jacob’s Creek chardonnay.

‘We’re going Dutch, aren’t we?’ she said.

I shook my head. ‘This is my first meal in company since my heart attack. It’s an occasion for me, and you’re my guest.’