Nicolas shrugged. ‘Why do you think the government officials are so obsessed with maintaining certain codes of behaviour? White culture can’t be seen to fall short. It’s why Sir Edward and his wife are so disapproving of our little set.’

‘Well really – it’s not as if we live in squalor.’

‘You know, people lived here for thousands of years without British rule. Sometimes, I wonder if we have the right.’

The Russian woman clucked at him, and waved a heavily bejewelled hand. ‘You French,’ she said. ‘You’re never happy unless you’re overthrowing some government or another.’

‘I’m hardly –’

‘Ah – here comes the main course,’ the farmer said, and the conversation was forgotten.

The food was delicious – chilled carrot soup with fines herbes mousse, moules marinière, coq-au-vin, crêpes suzette and cheese soufflés – and the totos topped up my glass whenever it was less than half full. By the time we finished eating, everything was a pleasant blur.

‘Now for games,’ Edie announced, and we moved back into the drawing room. I found the nearest sofa, and the other guests arranged themselves around the room, sitting, standing or lounging against the walls to watch.

First, Freddie and two men moved a circular table into the middle of the room, then Edie chose eight guests to hold a bedsheet stretched tightly across it. She stood behind one of the guests, holding a feather in one hand.

‘When I throw this into the circle,’ she said, ‘you must all keep it airborne. You may not take your hands away from the sheet.’

‘How do we do it then?’ one of the male players asked.

‘Blow,’ Freddie said from the sidelines. ‘Just think back to school if you’re struggling.’

Everyone laughed. Edie held out her arm, and dropped the feather over the middle of the table. The players began blowing frantically, leaning in with their chests but keeping their arms down. Some of the female players were laughing too much to blow hard enough, and everyone watching was laughing too and catcalling. The feather fluttered a foot or so above the bedsheet, strangely hypnotic.

A shout roused me, and I saw that the players were no longer blowing, but sitting back, giggling. Edie was standing behind them, looking satisfied.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘Sophia, you go with Boy, Charles, you go with Francesca, Dushka, you’re with Jack, Paul, you take Lilia.’ I couldn’t tell how she’d come up with the pairings, but everyone else seemed to understand. When she’d named them, she gave each couple a key, and they stood up, giggling harder. They disappeared off into the direction of the bedrooms. The air in the room was vibrating with excitement; I wanted to ask someone what was going on, but I couldn’t see anyone I knew.

‘Next game,’ Edie said. ‘We’ll need another sheet.’