“I can’t believe it!” he cried.

“My Christmas present to you,” she said.

Amazed, he looked at her and wondered if the darkness of the sky had descended into her eyes that night. The sound of her cheap bracelets with their hanging bells was alone worth more than the most expensive pedigree dog.

He unwrapped the gold paper and to his consternation found inside only a one-off decorative candle shaped like some kind of shell, which was filled with blue powder.

“My ex-wife sure knows how to insult a man. Call that a gift!” he thought.

“Disappointed?” asked the lingerie store salesgirl.

“No. On the contrary,” he replied, and took from his pocket the red-and-white-striped gift bag and offered it to the girl.

“I’ve got a present for you, too.”

From the bag she took out the familiar lighter, which she had stolen a few days before from the man in the lacquered overcoat.

“It’s lovely. I really needed a lighter!”

She put her arms round David Senenmut, the architect, and gave him a kiss.

“You light the glass snail while I bring supper.”