Then there was his mother, Montana Norton, who would have been horrified to discover that a word such as ‘milf’ even existed but flattered to find that she easily qualified. She was based in Malibu and if Ross’s experience was anything to go by, would mention the fact that she had watched dolphins from the balcony of her beachfront home at least once over the course of the conversation.

For the moment she sat at what looked like her breakfast bar, exuding exactly the right amount of age-appropriate glamour, Liz Hurley’s only real competition in this world.

‘Ross, how are you?’ she asked, and showed the usual lack of interest in his response.

‘And how are you, Mother?’ he asked in return.

‘Lovely thank you, darling,’ she glowed. ‘This morning I had breakfast on the balcony and watched the dolphins.’

She stopped, interrupting a train of thought that would have probably gone on for quite some time were it not for the fact that something had just occurred to her. ‘And where is Simon?’ she said. ‘Is this going to be another one of his no-shows?’

‘No, Mother,’ sighed Ross, ‘I think even Simon is going to make the effort for this one.’

As if in response, his younger brother, Simon, flicked into view.

There were some whose money prevented their drug use from taking its toll on their looks. Ross should know, having been to school with a number of them. Some had quit, some had been to rehab, some were still what you might call ‘functioning’. They all looked the picture of sun-dappled health.

Not Simon.

Simon looked as he always looked. Strung-out and needy. The sort of person from whom you averted your eyes in case their obvious addiction was catching.

Next to appear was Juliet Norton. Ross’s grandmother and the wife of the deceased. Sir Charles Norton’s widow.

She wore the clothes and make-up of a grand lady about to attend high tea, complete with pearls, although the truth was that she had the money to pass herself off that way but not the breeding. Her husband, Sir Charles Norton, RIP, was a man who had hauled himself up by his bootstraps and was in the eyes of the world a Labour-supporting, successful self-made man, a knight of the realm by dint of his many achievements. And yes, those achievements were based on a gambling empire of somewhat dubious provenance, but he had been a trusted figure under the Blair government and never really out of favour since, such was his man-of-the-people popularity.