I laughed. I felt my chest expanding. This was the first time that Freddie had needed me in particular, the first time I and no one else could help him. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Great.’ He slapped me on the back. ‘Nothing like hearing it from the horse’s mouth.’ He opened his door and pulled a face. ‘You know, I was going to show you the cottage, but Martha’s probably in the bar. She spends most of her time there telling members’ fortunes with cards.’

‘Maybe she can do mine.’

‘She tends to go in for the dramatic, just to warn you. You’ll probably meet a tall, dark stranger who stabs you in your sleep.’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually.’ I cast about for a delicate way of phrasing it, and couldn’t find one. ‘Are you sure Gregory knows what he’s doing?’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I mean – she seems to be getting worse by the day.’

‘I know.’ He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It’s not fair. But she isn’t in pain now, anyway, and that’s a relief. Are you coming?’

‘You go. I feel like stretching my legs for a moment.’

‘Alright. I’ll get drinks.’

I turned right and walked out of the club grounds and back onto the road. Diagonally opposite was a white-walled bungalow almost hidden by a clump of trees. I strolled over to it and paused outside, looking down the path at the red door. This wasn’t where he threw parties, or discussed politics with officials, and I suddenly had a strange urge to see inside the real Freddie.

Other than the sound of a lawnmower a few houses away, and a family of turtle doves cooing and scratching in the tree next to Freddie’s front gate, the road was quiet. I checked both directions before walking up the garden path and around the side of the house.

No one was in the garden, and the back door opened easily. The inside of the house smelled of Freddie and something sickly sweet. Most of the windows were shuttered, and it took a moment for my eyes to get used to the dimness. I was in a sitting room. More of Freddie’s family portraits hung on the walls, and a pink-and-grey-striped chaise longue took up most of the middle of the floor. I peered closer at the walnut coffee table in front of the chaise longue and saw it was littered with empty brown bottles. I could hear a muffled ticking, and the floorboards shifting and expanding in the heat, but no footsteps. No one came to see who I was.