I sat there at the bar for a few minutes and I couldn’t help but enjoy the ambiance of the place. If Otellio was proud of the club that he had put together, it seemed entirely justified.

During a lull in the dinner music, the band was joined by a beautiful, mature woman in a form-fitting red gown, a chanteuse with a sultry alto voice. It was a complete pleasure to lose myself in rapt attention to her singing. My mood was lifting, the grey day outside forgotten in the pleasant haze of color, aromas, music and alcohol.

Then suddenly, a flash of color at the entrance brought me back to the here and now. A woman with beautifully coiffed red hair, and wearing an emerald green satin floor-length evening gown that seemed to shimmer in even the slightest light, stood talking to the maître d’. He pointed at me, and she turned her piercing blue eyes to meet mine. Maryanne Stone had arrived, more beautiful than I remembered, and my heart skipped a beat.

This was not going to end well.