‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘This is good.’

Glen murmured something I didn’t catch. We were sitting side by side in deck chairs. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘What was that?’

‘I said you make bloody strong coffee. This is going to keep me awake all night.’

‘Don’t drink it then. I’ll dilute it if you like.’

‘No, it’s all right. We’ve only got two more days. We ought to stretch them. Stay up all night.’

I was wakeful, too. The afternoon sleep had been a long one and I’d only had a couple of glasses of wine. She was right. The coffee was strong and it tasted so good I wanted more of it. Glen massaged her arm. I moved my chair closer and took over the job, rubbing down the muscle towards the elbow the way she liked.

‘How is it?’

‘Aches a bit. That’s nice. Good holiday, eh?’

‘Terrific.’

‘Did you have any good holidays with Cyn?’

I tried to remember. I’d been married to Cyn for eight years. We must have had some holidays, but I couldn’t recall any. No recession back then- maybe we’d been too busy detecting and architecting. I shook my head. ‘None come to mind.’

‘With Helen Broadway?’

More recent history-a battlefield, essentially. ‘If you can call Hastings a holiday, or Agincourt or Dien Bien Phu. I went to New Caledonia with a woman once. We had a pretty good time.’

‘And where’s she now?’

Ailsa Sleeman. ‘She died of cancer a few years back.’

‘Did you love her?’

‘Glen, what is this?’

‘I feel like talking. No, I feel like listening. How long have you been a private detective, Cliff?’

‘ ‘Bout twenty years.’

‘Gee, I was still at school when you started.’

‘Yeah, in Year Twelve.’

Glen laughed. ‘Not quite. Tell me about your first case. You must remember it.’