‘Come on, I’ll give you the tour,’ Freddie said.

We pushed through the glass door into an airy lobby with a parquet floor and cool cream and green walls. Freddie continued towards the back; I tried to follow him without falling, Sylvie and Nicolas walking behind me.

‘Ballroom,’ he said, pointing through a set of double doors. ‘Bar – no tall stools allowed. Squash courts here, and golf course at the back.’ We stepped through a set of French doors onto a covered veranda, and I had an impression of a perfectly manicured lawn, sprinkled with banana plants, ferns, flowerbeds and avenues of eucalyptus trees. Several people were in the middle of a croquet game, and the thud of the mallet meeting the ball carried over to us as we hovered on the step leading down to the garden. I clutched my head and hoped it would stop reeling soon.

‘They call it the man’s paradise,’ Freddie said. ‘No Jews allowed, of course.’

‘Although they’ve had to let women in,’ Sylvie said. ‘The balls were a little lonely beforehand.’

‘I think I should sit down,’ I said.

‘You do that,’ Freddie said. He helped me back onto the veranda and into a deep wicker chair then called a waiter over.

‘We’ll have some coffee,’ he said. ‘And then some champagne.’

I rested my elbows on the table, propping my head up in my hands and massaging my temples with my fingertips. From the ballroom came the sound of a band tuning up.

Sylvie leaned against the pillar to my left and Nicolas came to stand beside her, one hand resting on the small of her back. Her amber smell seemed more powerful than before and my mind was fugged up with it.

Freddie pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. ‘You’ll feel better soon,’ he said, grinning. ‘I remember the first time I got tight – even younger than you. I ended up passing out under my friend’s parents’ bed. No idea how I got there.’

‘I’m sure there was a female involved somewhere,’ Sylvie said, and Freddie laughed.

The drinks arrived and I grabbed at the coffee, then swallowed it in four gulps.

‘That should do the trick,’ Freddie said. I looked up and he grinned. ‘What about a game? Played croquet before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come on then. The four of us versus the four of them.’

I followed him onto the lawn. A waiter followed with our champagne in an ice bucket and placed it at the edge of the croquet court.

There were two men and two women already in the game, and introductions were made, although I only remembered Hugh Cholmondeley – Lord Delamere – who had a large nose that overshadowed all his other features, and a high forehead covered in papery skin. He looked to be in his late fifties, frailer than my father, but still authoritative.

‘Mind if we join?’ Freddie said.