As he spoke, Tony Tolomei walked over to the cabinet and fetched the bottle of wine he had opened earlier, together with three elegant glasses. They were not quite from Murano, but had been blown for the Company on the mainland, only a short distance away.

Mrs Weiss knew the Company’s so-called recycling clause. If the Company’s overall profits declined enough for the Board’s bonuses to fall for two consecutive financial years, the longest-serving director would be required to step down. Since the directors’ bonuses were distributed according to seniority, the departure of the oldest director would increase everyone else’s bonus the following year.

Weiss looked at Tony Tolomei with her large brown eyes, full of sadness.

“It is still wrong.”

“Surely more than fifty years is enough?”

“But to be made to leave like this…” Maria da Silva could not bring herself to say dismissed, though that was precisely what she was thinking.

“Kicked out, you mean?” Tony smiled. “Think of it as an opportunity. Perhaps I shall return to the old country. Or better still… run away and join the circus.”

The ladies smiled sadly and tasted the wine.

Tony Tolomei watched them with quiet affection.

“You have never tasted this wine before,” he said, with the pride of a boy talking about his first motor car. “And, as far as I know, this is the last bottle in existence.”

“It is wonderful,” said Mrs da Silva. “Truly wonderful.”

“It comes from my father’s family estate. As far as I know, this is the last bottle my grandfather’s brother, Domenico Tolomei, ever bottled before the vineyard this wine came from was sold.”

“And you are serving it to us during working hours, Mr Tolomei!” Maria da Silva exclaimed in mock horror.

“To whom else should I serve it? Since the day I started in my father’s business, you two have been my closest and finest colleagues. And since this is my last day, with whom could it possibly be more appropriate to drink the last bottle?”

Tony Tolomei, Alma Weiss and Maria da Silva finished the old bottle of red wine together. When the bottle was empty, the two women rose to leave.

“My dear ladies…” Tony said. “This is my last day. Isn’t it about time we addressed one another by our first names?”

For a moment Mrs Weiss looked uncertain. Then her face broke into a broad smile, and she told Tony her first name, although he already knew it perfectly well. Mrs da Silva followed, more reservedly.

Tony looked at Alma and Maria for a moment, smiling.

“I…” he said softly. “I’m Tony.”

He paused for a moment and, just for an instant, looked like a round-faced little boy.

“I’ve arranged a small farewell bonus for you, Alma… and for everyone in our department.”

Maria thanked him with a warm smile.

Alma, instead, stepped forward and embraced him.

“We’re going to miss you.”

Tony Tolomei was deeply moved.

He could not remember when he had last experienced anything quite like it—if, indeed, he ever had.

The women left, and the old director returned to his desk.