JULIAN

PETER was quite at odds with the people i’d known back in oxford. Katreya and I had usually associated with business colleagues, and outside of that I’d had my circle of university friends, who’d been raised in the same kind of educational background. The contrast was palpable.

Peter was grounded, very down to earth, with a battered self-image that I recognised in myself. I liked him.

He peeled potatoes while I herbed up the steaks. His hands were huge and rugged, unlike mine. My hands had never seen what Peter would call hard graft, much more suited to a keyboard than anything labour intensive. Amidst our laughter and chatting,...