It’s peeling back more layers about the curiosity that is Guilfoyle, and it’s a precious thing: a person who has remained by Gwenaëlle’s side for so long, not even for money, when she’s already lost so much else. The last of family.

“So he’s out here doing my laundry for fun?” Stephen asks, in a kind of aghast horror; Doctor Strange the neurosurgeon had been rich, yes, but as he’d mentioned so long ago, there was that difference between nouveau riche and nobility. He didn’t keep live-in servants; he’d even felt discomfited the first time he employed a cleaning lady to help tidy up that barren penthouse apartment.

He’d grown up on a farm.

Self-correcting himself already: “No, I know, it’s not for fun, it’s— it sounds like loyalty.” A beat. He’s more grateful for that old man than he realised. Mildly disconcerted by him as always, sure, but also glad that he’s been here for her —

“Is ‘Guilfoyle’ even his first name or his surname? Does he have any other name?”