Always an advantage, that. The tables were grouped around an indoor garden and waterfall. Cyn was sitting near the centre of the place. She was reading with the book held well out in front of her. That was a sign that she was short-sighted. Cyn would be too vain to wear glasses in public. I pulled up and looked at her. The hair was still blonde and luxuriant; her wide mouth was closed firmly and the sculptured features that had thrilled me were still in evidence. Always slim, she looked even thinner in her late forties than she’d been in her twenties. That was Cyn. When she was slender she’d tried to be skinny. Well, she’d made it.

‘Hello, Cyn.’

I’d snuck up on her, gumshoeing it. But you couldn’t faze Cyn. She slowly lowered the book and levelled her blue eyes at me.

‘Cliff,’ she said, ‘Sit down.’

It was always like that. Just when I thought I’d got the drop on her in some way she’d fake me out. She was paler than I remembered and there was something frail-looking about her neck bones showing above the collar of the white silk blouse. She was wearing a blue linen jacket, almost certainly the top half of a suit. The shoes and bag would match in the same way the string of pearls and earrings matched. The pearls were a mistake though, they drew attention to that fragile neck.

I sat and undid my blazer. ‘You’re thinner,’ I said.

‘I’m older.’

‘Most people get fatter. I have.’

‘You’re all right. Better than I expected. That nose’s seen some wear and tear though.’

I grunted. ‘What about a drink?’

‘Same old Cliff. What time d’you start these days?’

‘I gave up spritzers with breakfast a while ago.’ I held out my hands to show my nicotine stain-free fingers. ‘And the fags.’

She laughed and as the skin tightened over her face I thought, Christ, she really is thin. Too bloody thin.

‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘Yes, let’s have a drink. They serve wine by the glass here. By the big glass.’