I went. She watched me blow out the candles then she ran across and shut the French doors. Drew the curtain in a huge swish. Great. At precisely that moment, I heard the front door open. Edward doubtless eased in, greased from head to toe in baby oil, pupils horribly dilated, monstrously priapic. I shuddered.

Ted regarded me quizzically in the darkness as I tiptoed back across the lawn to him, my finger to my lips. I sat down beside him quietly.

“Problem?” he murmured.

I mimed that complete silence was crucial. He complied, but his eyes and ears were pricked, like a horse out hunting. I kept my finger to my lips. Muffled voices came from inside. Celia seemed to be entreating, insisting, pleading now. Imploring for them to head upstairs. But Edward had worked up a head of steam and I had severe misgivings about Celia being able to hustle this particular masterpiece upstairs. Clearly Edward was all for exhibiting downstairs, on the sofa, before the wood-burning stove, perhaps.

“Darling, here, now!”

Ted thrust his fist in his mouth. His eyes were wide and enquiring at me.

“No — no, darling — upstairs!!"

“I can’t!”

“Yes!”

Celia's voice lowered suddenly, but there was no doubt she was prevailing. There were more urgent murmured entreaties from her, something about a soft bed, pillows, and finally, the stairs creaked. Their feet echoed upstairs, and then thankfully, mercifully, a door slammed. I sighed with relief. Flopped back theatrically on the seat. Then I remembered Celia's bedroom was above us and the window was ajar and I sat bolt upright again. Ted was already looking up expectantly. He knew exactly what was going on. And he was enjoying this far too much. I got to my feet, hauling him up with me, which was not easy, a finger to my lips again. He looked mock horrified, but I ignored him. I hastened him around the side of the house, leading him to the track, and shoved his keys and wallet in his unwilling hands.

“What's going on?” he wailed, just a touch too loudly. I hustled him right down the track, frowning in horror. We reached his car, which was out of earshot, but I still kept my voice low.

“Edward, right, has to have complete privacy, in order to — you know . .?”

“Perform?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled. “Blimey. That's a bit of a handicap.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So — what, I'm off?”

“It rather looks that way. Sorry, Ted.”

“Oh. I was enjoying that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He scratched his woolly head. “Really enjoying it, actually. Forget Edward.”

“I know.” I waited for him to be difficult. He wasn't.

“But no, I get it.” He shrugged. Then he lightly rested his hands on my hips. Smiled. “Some other time, then. My place, maybe?”

“I’d like that.”

“But not tonight?”

I hesitated. “I think . . .”

“The moment has passed?”

“It has rather.”