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He put his hand on the saddle. ‘This model is the Pegoretti “Day is Done”.’ He stopped talking and looked out of the window.

‘Do you understand anything about chance, Bart?’

‘There’s no such thing as chance. We call things chance for want of a better explanation. The fact that you go to an Italian cycle-maker and he’s making a bike he names after a song that you played forty years ago until the record wore out only seems to be chance, because we have no idea how such a thing is possible, because we are terrified of admitting that it isn’t chance at all.’

‘You haven’t changed a bit, Bart, you’ve always got an answer. So it isn’t coincidence either that you’re here. It wasn’t coincidence that you were sitting in that court with your notepad.’ He looked serious.

‘It was cool calculation. I thought: I’ve got to see André again. Let’s have a look to see where he might be. Hey, he’s on trial.’

‘They couldn’t touch me, could they? Those guys didn’t stand a chance. Suckers.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ I said.