On a yellow board and in bold type, it said “No Loitering”.

We sat uncomfortably on the plush velvet sofa below the sign.

A few minutes later, while we were still debating which magazine to look at ( using a phone was forbidden), a voice said: “Mr. Stanford-Galeone will see you now”.

Standing up was almost impossible, perhaps a drug had been added to the coffee, and each step taken seemed so conscious and planned as if walking was a new skill.

The elderly man smiled as we walked into the mahogany-paneled office.

“We’ll pay you twice what you asked for” he beamed, “just sign this confidentiality agreement then you can start any time you like.” “Oh, and call me Stan”.

Glad we loitered!