I laughed softly under my breath; these two were a hoot.

‘Don’t hover at the door, dear,’ said Betsy, shielding her eyes and squinting in my direction.

She aimed the wheelchair towards a desk in the centre of the room which was overflowing with brochures, paperwork and rolls of self-adhesive labels, as well as a tray of wine glasses covered with a cloth. Godfrey did some subtle finger jabbing to indicate I should stand between two huge stainless-steel tanks.

‘What are we tasting, Roger?’ Betsy peered at the dribble left in the bottom of Marjorie’s glass.

‘The 2017 Pinot Meunier,’ he said. ‘Rather fruity, I think. From tank number ten.’

‘Whatever that means,’ said Betsy crossly. ‘I can just about find my way round this room, but I’m darned if I know which tank is which.’

She turned Marjorie around to face us and sat herself down at the desk. I shrank back a little and Roger shot me a look of apology as Marjorie eyed me with pleasure but said nothing.

‘Well,’ Godfrey started to explain, ‘tanks one to six are the original ones that Ted put in first. They’re the little ones along the back.’

He was pointing towards the far side of the room at a row of upright stainless-steel tanks with flat lids and various valves and taps at the front; these tanks were half the size of the ones next to me. The room seemed to be divided into three sections and although there were open doorways to the left and right of me, I couldn’t see what was beyond them.

‘Yes, yes, I know all that,’ said Betsy irritably. ‘I was here when he built the place, remember? What I mean is …’ She sighed helplessly. ‘Oh, never mind. Someone pass me a sample of the Meunier. Just a small one, please.’

‘And I’ll have a splash more too,’ Marjorie put in. ‘And when I say splash, Roger, let’s get it in the glass this time.’

Godfrey passed a clean glass to Roger, who filled both of them from a small tap set into tank number ten, to the side of a large circular valve. Both ladies then sniffed and slurped the wine, squelching it rather disgustingly around their mouths before swallowing it.

‘Fruity, like you said.’

‘But not as soft as some.’

‘I like the gooseberry notes.’

I listened avidly; it was like another language. Just as well wine tasting wasn’t part of the job remit. My descriptions were invariably on a sliding scale from delicious to absolutely rank.

‘What do you think, Pippa?’ Betsy looked up in my direction. ‘Ted used to say you had a good nose. Oh, you haven’t even got a glass. Come on, girl, stop dithering. I thought this was a tasting session.’

Roger and Godfrey nodded at each other, as if to say, After you, no, after you. Roger finally surrendered.

‘We’re not really tasting today,’ he said solemnly.