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During the dinner, Joost stood on his chair and started holding forth. When he dropped the name Laura in his slurred speech, I knew it was going to end in tears. He talked of ‘Bart’s great love,’ the woman ‘who should have been here this evening, perhaps at Bart’s side.’ Or, he added, ‘at mine.’ People looked up in surprise and couldn’t understand a word. The speech was meant for my ears only. It was as if he had waited for this moment to pay me back.

‘Get him to stop,’ hissed Hinke. ‘I’m so ashamed. I don’t want to hear all this, make him stop!’ She shook my shoulder. I made a few vague hand gestures to Joost, but he was unstoppable. It went embarrassingly quiet; I could see a disaster looming, but I wasn’t capable of taking appropriate measures.

Joost had just launched into a detailed description of Laura’s appearance when David got up, walked over to him, whispered something in his ear, grabbed him by the waist, and threw him over his shoulder. He set him on a stool at the bar, spoke forcefully to him, and came back to the table as if nothing had happened.