Once in the passenger seat Theresa bent down into the footwell, pretending to do something to her shoe, until the two back doors had slammed and Sally revved the engine and the car sped up the hill.

Eggy ordered champagne, a bottle with four glasses.

Sally did the mental arithmetic – one and a half glasses each.

Conversation was pretty sticky. To Sally it seemed as though they were all tiptoeing around so many subjects, from Sally and Eggy’s film job to the reason why they were sitting here together having a drink at all.

‘I loved your sitcoms,’ said Theresa during one of the leaden pauses. ‘Very funny. Especially Paddy and Pat.’

‘Thank you, Theresa.’

Sally watched as Phoo bestowed upon Theresa a condescending smile of the type usually reserved for fans.

‘Compliments like that make my day. It was indeed a well-beloved show.’

And once again awkwardness reigned.

Eggy put up his hand and signalled for another bottle.

Just as the waiter was popping its cork and pouring, one hand smartly behind his back, Sally noticed Marianne enter with a well-built middle-aged man with dark hair, greying at the temples. She saw Theresa make a surreptitious wave. The man waved back at her. Trailing behind them was a teenaged boy.

At the same moment Sally’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. It was Jean-Philippe.

‘I’m so sorry. I need to get this.’ Sally took the phone out into the brightly lit hotel lobby. ‘Oh God, Jean-Philippe. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. I wanted you to chum me to a drinks thing at the Negresco.’

Jean-Philippe told her he’d love to, and Sally had to explain that he was now superfluous to requirements. He laughed and told her that once he’d bathed and preened himself he might well ‘happen’ to pop in later. Don’t worry, he’d make it seem a sheer coincidence.

As Sally made her way back into the bar, she was thinking how the whole quality of this evening was like a dream, or was it a nightmare?

She paused to greet her daughter. The man accompanying her rose to shake her hand.

‘Roger Muffett, I’m the father of Neil, here, the little squirt who ran off with your pal’s granddaughter.’ He leaned his head to one side and squinted at Sally. ‘I’ve met you before, haven’t I? You look very familiar.’

Sally noticed that Neil was blushing tomato-red, his eyes popping at her as though he was trying to transmit a secret message. She also perceived the boy’s slight shake of head, so said, ‘I don’t think so,’ even though she really did think he looked familiar.