‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…’

‘It’s not important,’ she said, dismissively. She looked steadily at him across their table. ‘Mad at me?’

Jordan hesitated, searching for the right response. ‘Tit for tat, to balance your betrayal?’

‘Something like that. In fact exactly that.’

‘Why should I be mad?’

‘I used you.’

‘You didn’t make any secret about being married.’

She smiled. ‘I started out feeling a shit, guilty I guess on several levels. I don’t any more. I feel great.’

‘So do I.’

‘No hang-ups, no regrets?’

‘No hang-ups, no regrets.’

‘What about my extending for an extra week?’

‘It sounds good.’

They made their way slowly back along the coast, stopping at Cagnes and Le Saint-Paul and on the night before her flight from Nice stayed at the Hermitage in Monte Carlo and gambled in the high stakes room in the casino, where Alyce won?1,200 to his?2,000.

As they left the caisse, Jordan carefully pocketing the French certificate recording his winnings, Alyce said, ‘What’s the benefit of that?’

‘In England gambling winnings aren’t taxable. This is proof of where the money came from.’

‘It makes you sound very rich.’

‘It’s the law. I always try to obey the law,’ said Jordan.

At the airport the following morning Alyce said, ‘It’s been great. You’ve been great. Everything’s great.’

‘There’s been a lot of times we’ve thought and spoken in echoes, like now.’

‘Best I don’t offer my New York address?’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Nor mine in London to you.’ He hadn’t intended to anyway. ‘Keep safe and stay happy.’

‘And you.’

They didn’t kiss goodbye. He stood watching her go through the departure gates. Alyce didn’t turn as she did so. Jordan stayed that night at the Negresco and the following day brought forward his return flight to London, deciding as the plane climbed out over the sea that it had been his best vacation yet. But that it was time to get back to work and briefly – although profitably – be someone other than Harvey Jordan.