He tilts slightly back in his chair as he listens, more nonchalant than most people get to see from him, but he’s still riveted to the tale even as the chairlegs lift off the floor, relaxed.

“French accent, great hair, brilliant brain,” Stephen repeats with a laugh: “Sounds like we’ve similar taste in women. Whouldathunkit.”

The chairlegs drop back down and hit the stone floor of the office. He’s still listening. Locked in, as they say.