Then looks up.

She sees me. Her eyes are very large and her mouth is slightly open, teetering on the brink of hesitation. She looks like she's about to break out into a great big smile but she doesn't quite manage it. She glances at Ronan doubtfully, as if requiring reassurance. Who can blame her for her amazement? We've just beamed in here like two apparitions from Star Trek Star Trek without the fancy gear. without the fancy gear.

She touches him lightly on the arm. But he's stuck deep in his paper. She should realize by now that she is located way below the Figaro Figaro in his order of priorities. She nudges him harder. He raises his creme de menthe and takes a sip and, as he lowers his drink, he glances in our direction. When he sees me his glass halts in mid-air. in his order of priorities. She nudges him harder. He raises his creme de menthe and takes a sip and, as he lowers his drink, he glances in our direction. When he sees me his glass halts in mid-air.

I think he goes white, though I'm prepared to concede it's a pale shade of grey. As we approach, the vibe is so thick you could cut it with a baguette.

Nicole snaps out of her daze. She jumps to her feet and throws her arms around me shrieking, "You had me fooled right up to the very last minute! What are you doing doing here? How come you never said? I had no idea." here? How come you never said? I had no idea."

I respond to her hug like a stiff, rolled-up carpet, although to my credit I do say hello. Disengaging myself from her arms, I stand back to let her hug Sylvana if she wants to and I just glare at Ronan.

They disentangle themselves and Nicole squeals at Ronan how amazing amazing this is and in high frequency she demands to know what brings us here at no notice. this is and in high frequency she demands to know what brings us here at no notice.

I don't respond and neither does Ronan: he is in puzzled concentration. This is how he looks when he's been taken for a ride and isn't quite sure who has ridden him, or hasn't yet worked out how best to ride back. As he attempts to get a hold on the situation his eyes flicker around the three of us like a lizard's.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you're here," chants Nicole, staring happily at me the whole time, head tilted, figertips touching the side of her face.

She starts jabbering now, a useful release of tension for all. "Ronan do you remember I told you about Julianne and Imelda? They're my two new, very good friends. Julianne's the one that brought me to the hospitalyou knowafter that thing? Come on, Ronan, of course course you remember. I told you about her. She's the one who's really into you remember. I told you about her. She's the one who's really into Feng Shui Feng Shui. Remember? No, he doesn't rememberhe's not into Feng Shui Feng Shui."

He opens a pack of Gitanes.

"Ronan." She nudges his shoulder. "Julianne is the one who moved into a new apartment with her husband Helmut recently; that's the place where I started repainting Chi Chi yesterday morning on the balcony. And this is Imelda, her friend. I met her at the zoo yesterday." yesterday morning on the balcony. And this is Imelda, her friend. I met her at the zoo yesterday."

She would have to put it like that.

"Ronan, is something the matter, love?"

Love.

Nicole is frowning down at him. "Ronan!"

But he has turned away.

He is withdrawing into himself, considering the equation, measuring the vibes, preparing the perfect word. And he will not be lost for the perfect word.

"He's not listening."

Nicole is all sighs.

Me: "He's not a great listener."

"Anyway, this is Ronan, folks."

What an embarrassment. She stands there, her hand opened out towards her lover like he's the next guest on a chat show, grinning away like she's just escaped some institution.

An appropriate response from Ronan is still not forthcoming. All he can do is smoke, very calmly, exhaling to the side. Nicole's orgy of joy is becoming progressively more forced. The smile is fast draining from her cheeks. She frowns, eyeing each of us in turn.

"Talk about an anticlimax," remarks Sylvana.

"Hello there, Ronan," says I suavely. "I must say, Cannes is a lovely city. A little cool, though, for July."

Only his eyes move. Slowly across. They burn into me like two hard, deep, smoking gun barrels. Sylvana is glaring at him. Hatefully. Loyally.

Ronan consults Nicole: "You have no idea who this is, do you?"

Nicole's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Sure Sure she knows who this is, the poor thing craves to say: these are her new friends Julianne and Imelda. she knows who this is, the poor thing craves to say: these are her new friends Julianne and Imelda.

But sometimes one is afraid to state the obvious. One is afraid that if one repeats the self-evident, the heavens will suddenly open and a swarm of frenzied forked-tongued demons will break out in a chorus of deafening cackles, deriding one for one's asinine stupidity in missing the insanely obvious. It's an old school thing. Perfectly understandable.

Finally, Ronan sniggers. "Congratulations!" he says. "Julianne and Imelda! I especially like the Imelda part. Very suitable."

Nicole frowns: "Do you, like...know one another?" one another?"

"You could say that," I reply.

"What's going on, Julianne? Has this to do with Helmut?"

"No. It's nothing to do with Helmut."

"Helmut!" Ronan sniggers.

"You people are freaking me out! What is going on here?"

We sit down. Sylvana and I on two stools opposite Nicole and Ronan. He takes another drag of his Gitane and smiles, shaking his head, sitting back in his seat. Then he takes a further sip of his creme de menthe, cigarette-end brushing against the glass. And he replaces the glass on the table.

Now he takes a second cigarette from his box, perches it on his lips, strikes a match disdainfully against a Cafe de Flore booklet and exhales deeply, spreading white smoke up into the ceiling. He relaxes his weight back against the banquette. His old confidence and superiority are returning. He has got the measure of the situation.

"You're cleverer than I thought, Julianne Julianne."

He says this while staring into the distance.

Sylvana: "It's just that you're stupider than we thought."

Nicole, by now, is a monument to the totally bewildered. She is desperate for somebody to clarify the situation. But we are all sitting caged in deadly silence, all the deadlier for occurring bang centre of probably the noisiest, busiest cafe in Paris.

I turn to Nicole and address her in my most elegant voice: "Nicole, there's something you ought to know."

"What?"

"Shall I tell her, Ronan?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you."

I draw in a breath. "Nicole, the slice of whaleshit to your left happens to be my husband."

I can't even begin to explain to you the sense of utter, profound satisfaction and exuberance I am presently feeling, having finally got this little matter off my chest. It's been excruciating, bottling it up for so long.

"Would that be a fair analysis, Sylvana?"

"Which part? The husband part or the whaleshit part?"

"Both."

Sylvana (trying not to grin): "Yes, I think that would be fair."

I feel totally liberated.

You want to see Nicole's reaction. It's straight out of a horror movie: the flesh on her face has turned practically green green, though not from jealousy. No. It's the visage of someone who's just discovered, for instance, baby roaches in her yoghurt. She is a tremoring, shaking mass of flesh, palpably on the verge of emotional collapse.

Hands against her cheeks, she turns to her dear love, distraught. "Is this true?" she stammers.

"Their little ploy won't succeed," he says in her direction. "Yes, I went through a marriage ceremony with this woman two years ago."

"He thinks it was a tedious, forgettable experience," I tell Sylvana, who's got this great expression on her face.

"I know," she replies.

"I wouldn't quite put it that way," he counters eloquently.

Nicole: "I don't believe this is happening."

Me: "I've been meaning to tell you for some time."

"The deception is despicable," Ronan says calmly.

Sylvana: "That's laughable, coming from you you."

Nicole: "I don't believe this is happening. I..."

Her mouth is trembling. Her mascara and make-up are running together in black and white streaks down her cheeks.

"...I trusted you, Julianne!"

"I trusted my husband, you bitch!"

"There's no need to upset Nicole," says Ronan in a natural voice.

"Oh, please excuse me for upsetting you, Nicole. Please excuse me for being cheated on. Please excuse me for coming home one day and finding both your clothes all over the kitchen floor and our double bed slept in by you. An appalling indiscretion on my part. Please excuse me for informing Harry and thus getting you beaten up. Please excuse me, let me see...oh yes, please excuse me for smashing up your living-room..."

I'd give anything for you to see their faces now.

"...although I have to say there was something about that festive experience which was particularly fulfillingespecially the tropical marine aquarium."

While Nicole is gaping at me like a frightened tropical fish, Ronan is examining me objectively. Suddenly I remember the cat. I'm dead scared they're going to bring up Max.

"And lest you think I have one ounce of decency in me, Nicole, I want to state categorically that I think that your Feng Shui Feng Shui obsession is a lump of codswallop for the mentally undernourished." obsession is a lump of codswallop for the mentally undernourished."

"Don't forget the Porsche, Julie," remarks Ronan.

Sylvana: "Try some Viagra to- compensate."

Ronan again: "Or your highly original fish recipe, a most civilized way for people to behave."

Sylvana, raising her eyes, mutters: "You deserved it, you prat."

Ronan: "And Nicole's painting, which you..."

"Chi? " "

"Yes. Chi Chi."

"Please don't call it a painting, Ronan. It was a muck transplant. Nicole, I have something to tell you about your 'art'. Please read my lips: you are one crap painter you are one crap painter. I saw the stuff in your attic. It was laughable. And as for the Chi Chi replica you did on my balcony, that was ludicrous. I'm sure Ronan agrees, though he's probably too polite to tell you straight." replica you did on my balcony, that was ludicrous. I'm sure Ronan agrees, though he's probably too polite to tell you straight."

Ronan: "Somehow, the Parisian art world manages to think differently. Let's go, Nicole. I have no intention of going back home with her."

"You think I came here just to haul you back home?"

Pause.

I want to grab the nearest wine bottle by the neck and smash it against his skull to see which breaks first.

"Then why did you come?" he wonders, at the edge of his seat.

Sylvana: "She wanted to alert poor Nicole here that you're as big a scumbag asshole as I always suspected."

"Who asked you?" says Ronan calmly.

"One doesn't require an asshole's permission to state obvious facts."

But there's barely a flicker from him.

"Then why did you come here, Julie?" he inquires.

"You think I came here to bring you back."

He shrugs arrogantly. "Then why?"

I look at Sylvana and she looks at me.

"Ronan, you are mean and vindictive and deceptive, and even now you seem to enjoy hurting me. I only hope Nicole doesn't have to go through what you've put me through, because in a funny way I think she's not a bad person. Even though she has done me a terrible wrong."

She is staring mournfully at me now, upset, eyes coated in a film of water. Every few seconds her body shudders minutely.

Ronan: "All the way herejust to tell us that Nicole is not a bad person?"

Something inside me snaps.