Gillian Winterbourne sat with Bruce in Big Lou’s coffee bar, before her a steaming cup of latte on the foamy surface of which Big Lou had described her signature flourish: a milky thistle. Beyond this cup of coffee, seated on the opposite side of the table, was Bruce, wearing a carefully chosen green linen shirt. He was clean-shaven, although just beneath his jawline a faint line of stubble had been left to lend emphasis to the entirely agreeable contours of his face. His hair, cut en brosse, had benefited from the subtle application of his favourite clove-scented hair gel, and his eyebrows had been perfectly trimmed by his Kurdish barber. None of this was lost on Gillian Winterbourne, whose expert eye for what would look good on television had run over Bruce and given him its full seal of approval.