"It's as if she's got the rulebook out, it betrays her social insecurity." She said the truly grand didn't bother about things like that — and by that she meant herself; Babs’ grandfather had been an earl. She said they had the confidence to shove whatever they liked on their table, and that all Belinda's relentless white linen and towels reminded her of the Ritz, which only a desperate arriviste would think was the height of good taste. Sprays of white jasmine in little glass vases tumbled down the middle of the table and long beeswax candles were alight in proper silver candelabra from the dining room. I thought it looked lovely. Most would say she'd made an effort on her grandson's first night, and only the most cynical and curmudgeonly would find fault, but, as we made our way to the table from where we'd gathered further along the terrace for drinks, I could see Babs’ grinning face.

Knowing I was nervous, I'd determined not to drink too much. I'd only sipped the champagne I'd been handed by one of Belinda's apron-clad flunkies — oh yes, this was catered — so I still had a pretty full glass as we made our way to the table. I was placed between Roger and Tommy, which could have been worse, I decided. I absolutely wouldn't have wanted Hugo beside me, and Peter and Janey were opposite, which couldn't have been better. My son's delighted face at this truly extraordinary family gathering shone like a beacon above his pink Ralph Lauren shirt and once again, I felt a lurch of shame at not having provided him with more delight sooner. Better late than never, I decided, as I smiled up at Roger, who'd pulled my chair out for me. Some divorced couples didn't speak until a child got married, and even then avoided each other at the wedding. At least I'd made it before that.

Roger beamed and chatted away beside me, with the occasional hand pat, and I knew he was going out of his way to make me feel at home. And he was so easy. I could listen to his increasingly outrageous anecdotes and patter all night, and smile and nod in the right places, even properly laughing. He could be very amusing. Belinda, happily, was at the far end of the table, but as we'd sat down she'd bustled round to assure me, in a confidential tone, that she was happy on the end because she'd had a long chat with her grandson earlier, which if I'm being churlish, suggested she was making a huge sacrifice by letting him sit next to Janey.

Janey, who couldn't help but overhear, had felt obliged to say: "Oh – surely you'd like to sit next to your grandson? I'll sit on the end, really."