I hand him the mug of soup. He takes it hesitantly and has a sip, looks a little—well, both surprised and happy—and downs the whole thing.“More?...�� I ask, pointing to the empty mug. He nods his head and gives me the mug, and I get him a refill. He drinks that too; then he looks at the bottom of the mug and sets it down on the floor beside him and looks at me and says something I can’t even begin to understand.I shake my head to show I don’t know what he’s saying, and he speaks again but this time. “It’d be nice if you’d do us that favour again. Tonight,” he said with a big wink of the eye before walking out of the kitchen door and back to the terrace.We ate some splendid ribs and slices of fillet, baked potatoes and a great tomato and basil salad, all washed down with a lot of wine. We moved from the table and Karen joined me on one of the sofas. While the general conversation continued she said quietly, “Has Ken spoken to you?”"Yes." Then I realised she may not be talking about the same. More

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