Bob waited for Alfie at Arrivals. When he came through, after a slight altercation with an officious customs officer, Bob almost missed him.

“I didn’t recognise you. You look so well.”

“Meaning, I looked like shit when I left, I suppose?”

“You remember.”

“Yes, but was I that bad?”

“Yep.”

“We’ll catch up on trivia later. Where are we business-wise?”

“We’re under pressure, and since Kevin’s boss pulled him off the Thailand project, our investment is sunk.”

“Yes, that was a major fuck-up, and a huge embarrassment for me. But it’s gone and we have to move on.”

“I kept on top of Eric and the garden. You know what he’s like. And I checked your house on my way home twice a week.”

“Thanks. How’s it looking?”

“It’s good. Needs an airing, that’s all.”

“I can manage that, I’m sure.”

“So, what are your plans? Coming back for good or…?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve committed to building a house over there, so I’ll be back and forth until we settle the business.”

“Oh, good. You finally went ahead?”

“Yes. I couldn’t resist the challenge, although I’m concerned about you and the business.”

“It’s been a difficult time, but I have a plan. I’ll take you home so you can settle in, then I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good. Thanks.”

The house was lonely, but soon perked up when Alfie walked in and opened all the doors and windows. He loved his home, and it loved him in return. To most people a house was just an arrangement of bricks and mortar. To Alfie it was a living, breathing collection of energy that greeted him with more affection than the wife ever did. The fragrance of frangipani in bloom washed four months of staleness away, on the breeze. He turned house maid for a day and by six o’clock he was ready for supper. He laid the table on the terrace by the pool, as Bryan Adams launched into Robin Hood’s theme song from the lounge speakers. A bottle of Rustenburg Cabernet Sauvignon was breathing, or was it sighing, as Table Mountain faded into the night, and the lights of Cape Town sparkled in the distance. The garden lamps danced to the music in the ripples of the pool, while Alfie’s crayfish salad waited patiently on the table for him to carry the crusty French loaf across the lawn. Unlike steamy Thailand nights, Cape Town evenings were cool. The chill from the icy Atlantic surrounding the Peninsula meant sweater and slacks were essential. But Alfie’s garden was enclosed by a two-metre high wall and the air was still. Bryan Adams finished his third album at nine-thirty, as Alfie finished eating and drained the last drop of wine from the bottle. He was ready for bed.

The girls in the jewellery showroom beamed as Alfie came through the security gate. Many welcome back hugs later, Alfie shut the door of Bob’s bunker and settled onto the sofa.

“No disturbances today, Greta. If it’s urgent, buzz me.”

“OK Bob. Good to have you back, Alfie.”

“Good to be back, Greta. Thanks.”

“So what was it like? I mean, could you live there?”

“Oh yes. But it’s quite a culture shock. Not like before. Fly in; work a week; come home.”

“Took some getting used to, then?”

“You could say that. People are so laid back. Each day comes and goes. Planning forward is anathema to them. The average person doesn’t know there’s a global financial crisis. Even if they did, they wouldn’t care. Forget global warming; they’ve roasted all their lives. They hardly travel outside Thailand and only know other countries exist because of the Internet. Thai TV is politically driven by propaganda, the worst soaps ever, and comedy so banal, you can’t imagine.”

“Behind the mountain, then?”

“People aren’t backward, and the infrastructure is sound. But freedom of speech is limited, and some laws are draconian. Like the lèse-majesté law, which forbids criticism of the Royal Family and carries a maximum penalty of fifteen years in jail. It is the harshest such law in the world, and scores of people are always in jail or awaiting prosecution under it. So, it can be stifling for Thais, who see a new world outside their borders.”

They analysed Bob’s ideas, the impact of the meltdown and how they would deal with the likely loss of revenue. By close of business they had a plan where Alfie would spend three months in each country, alternating to coincide with the jewellery fairs in Bangkok each March and September. If he relocated to Thailand, he would put his house on the market or rent it out. It was a decision he didn’t have to make now. The rent should cover his mortgage bond repayments and he could come and go as he pleased, so it was the best option. Staying in an apartment in Blaauberg Sands, overlooking Table Mountain for a few months, wouldn’t be so bad. And he could sell at some point, if he wanted to.

Alfie and Bob set a target of three months to restructure the business. Bob would be at the sharp end supporting the customers and Alfie at the back piecing it all together. He led the back-office team with freshness and vigor, slashing overheads and retrenching some staff. He didn’t enjoy it, but had to do it. They were all good about it, the leavers understanding, and the stayers responding to the challenge. MG, the financial manager, was gone by the time Alfie arrived, for which he was grateful, as they didn’t see things quite the same way.