‘It didn’t matter what I thought.’

She stood up and took her cup and plate to the sink. She was dressed for work, in a fawn-coloured linen skirt and matching jacket, bought on sale at Saks. Anna liked to tell him that clothes cost only half as much here as in London, and he’d decided not to spoil things by pointing out that this didn’t help much if you bought twice as many.

‘Why did he call so late?’

‘He apologised – he said he didn’t realise the time. I suppose it takes some getting used to.’

‘What does?’ She turned from the sink, and pushed her chestnut hair back against her ears.

‘He’s had over twenty years of a routine he didn’t set. The last thing he wants to do now is watch the clock.’

‘Will you see him?’

‘I don’t know.’ He looked tensely at his watch, a handsome Swiss make with a Roman numeral face and a caramel leather strap. Quite smart for him – Anna had bought it as his wedding present.

‘Is it safe to see him?’ she said, in a cool voice she used to mask emotion.

‘You mean physically safe?’ She nodded and he looked at her face, surprised by her concern. ‘I knew Duval when we were little. When I was nine years old, we were like this.’ He held up two fingers and put them together. ‘He wasn’t a violent kid,’ he added firmly.

‘You’ve never mentioned him.’ She came and picked up her briefcase from a chair.

‘He’s been in prison so many years that I guess I started to think he’d never get out.’

‘Or you forgot about him,’ she said sharply. That was what had always upset her most about her clients back in London – once they’d been convicted, however unjustly, no one wanted to know. ‘What do you think he wants?’

‘Beats me.’ He looked closely at his wife, unable to tell what she was feeling. She didn’t like surprises, which must have made the fact that they had got married almost by accident unsettling.

The back door slammed, feet slapped on the vinyl tiles, and the accident burst in. ‘Hello, spider monkey,’ he said, still allowed to use nicknames at home, though never within a hundred yards of teachers or school friends.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Sophie said. After nine months her voice had gone entirely American. She was wearing khaki shorts with big pockets, a pink T-shirt, and trainers on her feet. Already she was concerned about looking cool, which made him miss the uniform she’d had to wear in London.

He contemplated his daughter with a sense of wonder he did his best to disguise. In summer her hair was strawberry blonde, in winter almost downright red, explicable by a great-grandmother on Robert’s mother’s side. Watching Sophie watching him, he realised yet again that she was stunningly, yet still unknowingly, beautiful. This was not parental fatuousness, but the simple truth: the first time he and Anna had been asked to let their daughter model, Robert had laughed in unanxious amusement; the fifth time they’d been asked he had grown alarmed.

Now she flicked her hair back in a smaller replication of her mother’s tic, and asked sarcastically, ‘What is the Important Man going to read today at the office?’

‘A History of Impertinent Daughters,’ he said, batting it back. She was quick for her age, her tongue precociously sharp. If he’d been half as lippy with his own father he would have paid a price, but even when piqued he was wary of crushing her – he couldn’t bear the prospect of her fearing him. Her emotional development seemed in any case strictly normal for nine years old – a withering remark she made could be followed within seconds by the tantrum and tears of a toddler.

‘We’d better get going,’ Anna said to the girl. Ordinarily they would have all left together, since Anna’s job at the consulate was only a few minutes’ walk from his own office off north Michigan Avenue. But today she was going out near the state line for a meeting with some Wisconsin businessmen, and she would drop off Sophie on her way north.

‘Good luck with the presentation. Will Philip be there?’ His voice was teasing, but held the hint of an edge.

‘Of course. Why?’ She gave him a don’t start that look.

‘Just wondered. Anyone else?’

‘Maggie Trumbull.’

Maggie was a lawyer, too, but American-trained. ‘Well, at least you won’t get sued. I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ he added in a gentler voice, since he knew she hated public speaking.

Anna leaned down and kissed Robert goodbye lightly on the lips. ‘Cheese makers don’t sue.