"Whatever you say, Julie."

"You're a laughing stock. A buffoon who pretends to be so urbane and sophisticated."

He doesn't like this. He sips his vodka, turns to the windows again, hand in his pocket, and peers out at the cold afternoon. "The whole point is I have finished with that woman now. I have no interest in her."

"Just her body."

"It was so-so."

"And her art."

He makes a noise with his nostrils. "Is that that what you call it?" what you call it?"

"It was you who encouraged her."

"It's expressionistic kitsch, it's..."

"How did it do in Paris?"

He eyes me quizzically. "The revamped Chi? Chi? It was a disaster. As for her other work, there was minor interest. She won't make it anywhere. Hasn't got the application." It was a disaster. As for her other work, there was minor interest. She won't make it anywhere. Hasn't got the application."

"You needlessly raised her expectations."

"By burning Chi Chi, I think you needlessly dashed them."

A point, of course.

"Anyway, Ronan..." I stand up and help myself to another G&T. "I don't share your pessimism about her work. Nicole, unlike you, is able to feel feel. She puts her heart on her canvas and I respect her spontaneity. There's emotion in her paintings."

He smirks.

"Besides," I add, sitting down again, "what about those excellent sketches she made of you?"

"You saw the sketches?"

"I saw them all, even the nude ones."

"A very poor likeness."

"Rubbish! I could have recognized your arrogant leer in them a mile away."

Ronan starts pacing again. "She tore them up."

"The fewer reminders of you the better."

"I offered to buy them off her. And still she tore them up."

"You're despicable. And vain."

"She needed the money. She sold her Fiat."

"And you pretend to despise commerce. In reality you put commerce higher than aesthetics."

"That's very good, Julie."

"Oh, get out."

"I have no problem with commerce. That woman and I were never more than a mutual business venture."

"With a bit of hot sex added."

"The sex wasn't great, strange to say."

"Not even in our bed?"

"We never slept in our bed."

I take another sip. "You've been digging your grave for quite some time, Ronan. Slowly but very efficiently. Every time you open your mouth, it seems, you scatter away another shovelful."

"Julie, this has been a bad period in our relationship. Something of a disaster, actually. What some people might call the lowest trajectory of a learning curve, or what others might call..."

"Please, leave now."

He paces around a bit more, stops and stares at me. "What do you want me to say?"

He's acting like I'm being unreasonable. Like he expects me to dismiss his liaison with Nicole as so much adolescent swagger.

"Try saying sorry."

"I have no problem with that."

"Right then; say it."

He sighs.

He has a problem with it.

"I'm sorry. Now. Are you happy?"

We fall silent. Just the wind through the slightly open french windows. Mother and Sylvana are obviously still in the kitchen, but they have stopped talking. Knowing them, they're tuning in to every word.

"I don't want you in my life any more, Ronan."

I'm fingering the envelope in my inside jacket pocket, ready to pull it out.

"I accept that going to France was an overreaction on my part."

"I gave you your last chance. Remember? That day on Dun Laoghaire pier?"

"I made a mistake and I'm coming home now. My bags are outside."

"It's gone."

"What's gone?"

"Home."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"The apartment is no longer yours."

"Please explain, Julie."

"I sold it."

"You sold it?"

"Precisely."

He's turning white before my eyes.

"Okay," he says, nodding. "You sold our apartment...We'll get over that. When did you...?"

"To my mother."

"What? " "

He's turned grey now. Concrete-grey. Mushroom-soup grey.

"Surely you prefer to keep it in the family?"

"You sold it to her? her? " "

"Watch your tone."

He runs a hand through his hair and glares at me, and when he's finished glaring he stalks over to the drinks cabinet.

"This is our apartment; you had no right."

"I'm a lawyer. Don't talk to me about morality."

"I signed nothing."

"You didn't have to. I had the place transferred into my name first."

He gapes.

"How did you manage that?"

"It wasn't easy, though learning to forge your signature helped."

"I can have it tested."

"I'm being kind to you, Ronan, so don't fight me on this. After deducting the mortgage, I technically owe you forty-two grand. I'll be sending you a cheque for twenty-two grand next week. I've made a small deduction for nervous suffering."

"Julie, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's discuss this rationally."

"Hadn't you heard? I'm not rational. Mother! Mother! " "

"What are you doing?"

"It's over."

Mother walks into the lounge. "Yes, dear? Did you both want a cup of tea?"

"Julie, I'd like to talk to you in private."

"We've said all we have to say."

Ronan turns to face the window and starts to stroke his chin again. Now Sylvana silently enters the lounge and stands quietly behind the aquarium, chewing something.

"I can't talk with your mother here, Julie."

"Don't mind little old me." She grins.

"I am moving my things back in, Gertrude," he says, addressing the window.

"After all the nice things you said about me in that letter?"

"Yes, well..."

She sits down on the couch. "I meant to tell you, Ronan," she says. "Julie sold this apartment to me. We had no idea you were returning."

He's just nodding to himself, arms folded.

"Anyway," she continues, "this place is working out a treat. I've turned your old bedroom into a kind of safety-deposit vault for my valuable nineteenth-century furniture."

"And your antique lawnmower, Mother."

"Oh, yesI had it specially polished; it's the one my father used to use in the thirties. And there's an easel in there too, which Julie was good enough to give me, though it was in a pretty worn state. I've been painting during those long weeks, when Julie refused to call out and visit me. I find I have a small talent for art. I never realized it before."

Sylvana is grinning away at me behind Ronan's back.

"I've dreamt of living in a place like this," Mother continues, "with the balcony and the wonderful sea view, the marble floor in here, the leather couches and, of course, the Jacuzzi. You put such an amount of thought into the interior design, Ronan, it's truly lovely."

Cutting a relaxed pose as he stares through the window, Ronan is trying to pretend this isn't bothering him. "So where are you living, then, Julie?" he says. "Flat-sharing with that large friend of yours, I take it?"

"I'll thank you not to speak about my friend like that."