He would visit Rome and act like a responsible landlord. What he would not do was let himself be ordered around.

He put the folder away. Suddenly his room felt too quiet, its very luxury pressing in on him like a stifling blanket. Coming to a sudden decision, he took the cash out of his wallet and put it in his pocket along with the plastic card that was the key to his room. Then he locked the wallet in the wall safe, and headed downstairs.

It was a balmy night and he was warm enough in his shirtsleeves as he walked away from the hotel and hailed a taxi to take him the length of the Via del Corso, with its late-night cafés and glittering shops. At the bottom they swung right, heading for the Garibaldi Bridge over the River Tiber.

‘Here will do,’ he called to the driver when they had crossed the river.

He knew now that he must have reached the part of Rome known as Trastevere, a name which literally meant ‘on the other side of the Tiber’. It was the oldest part of the city, and still the most colourful. The light streamed on to the streets, accompanied by song, laughter and appetising smells of cooking.

He plunged into the nearest bar and was soon enveloped in conviviality. From there he drifted to another bar, relaxed by some of the best local wine he had ever tasted. Three bars later he was beginning to think that this was the way to live.

He wandered out into the cobbled street and stood there, gazing up at the full moon. Then he studied the street, realising that he had no idea where he was.

‘Looking for something?’

Turning, he saw a young man sitting at one of the outside tables. He was little more than a boy, with a charming, mobile face and dark, vivid eyes. When he grinned his teeth flashed with almost startling brilliance.