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The food was said to be so good that the chef actually cried when you ate it. The house speciality was a leg of lamb cooked in Armagnac – and no matter that it cost you an Armagnac and a leg. Even a glass of water at The Gravy was expensive. It probably came out of a gold-plated tap.
    The head waiter showed us to the best table, and there was Minerva looking stunning in a white silk dress that hugged her tight in all the right places and tighter still in some of the wrong ones. Her face fell when she saw me but she didn’t protest as a couple of waiters hastily added a third setting to the table. It was only as we sat down that she muttered, “I’m surprised you brought your little brother, Timothy. Couldn’t you find a babysitter?”
    “I’m no baby, Minerva,” I said.
    “I was hoping to be alone with your big brother. I want to get to know him a little better.”
    “Just pretend I’m not here.”
    And that’s exactly what she tried to do for the rest of the meal. The waiter came over with three menus but she chose only for the two of them, leaving me to decide for myself. That suited me. I went for the straightforward steak and chips, leaving the fancy stuff with the French names to her and Tim. If I’ve got one rule in life, it’s never eat anything you can’t translate.
    “So tell me, Timothy,” Minerva said, winking at him. “How would you like a little bubbly?”
    Tim looked awkward. “Actually, I had a bath before I came.”
    “Bollinger!” she exclaimed.
    “No. Really. I did!”
    Minerva ordered a bottle of Bollinger. I asked for a Coke. The way she was making eyes at Tim, it really did seem that she had designs on him and I couldn’t understand it. I mean, he was fifteen years younger than her and about fifty thousand times poorer. What could she see in him? I watched him as he opened the champagne for her. There was an explosive pop, followed by a scream from the other side of the room.
    “The head waiter?” Tim asked.
    “No,” I said. “Just a waiter’s head.”
    Minerva didn’t seem to mind. She snuggled up close to him. “I love a man who makes me laugh,” she said. “Can I ask you something, Timothy? Do you have a girlfriend?”
    “Not at the moment,” Tim answered.
    “There’s nobody waiting for you in bed tonight?”
    “It’s just Tim and his Paddington Bear hot-water bottle,” I told her.
    Tim glared at me.
    “I fill it for him every night.”
    The waiter arrived with the first course: soup for me, caviar for Tim and Minerva. Personally, I’ve never understood caviar. I mean, when I order eggs, I don’t expect them to turn up tiny, black and fifty quid a mouthful. But she seemed happy enough. I wondered who would pick up the bill.
    I could see that Tim was already well out of his depth. He was looking more and more uncomfortable the closer Minerva got, and she was already close enough. Any closer and she would be on his lap.
    “Timothy … I think you and I were meant for each other,” she breathed.
    “What about your husband?” Tim squeaked.
    She sniffed. “Let’s not talk about Harold. He’s half the man you are.”
    “Which half are you talking about?”
    I couldn’t help chipping in again. “If you dislike him so much,” I asked, “why did you marry him?”
    To my surprise, Minerva looked me in the eye for the first time and I knew at once that she was going to be completely honest. “Why do you think?” she replied coldly. “I married Harold for his money. That was at the start of my career. I’d just left Athens and I had nothing. He promised to help me – and he did. Of course, all that’s changed now. Now I’m worth millions!”
    “So why are you still with him?”
    “I can’t be bothered to divorce him. Anyway, it’s more fun the way things are.”
    “Does he know where you are tonight?”
    Minerva laughed. “Of course he knows. You should have seen his face when I told him I was going out with Timothy. I thought he was going to have