‘Exactly. When he married Mum, he was reasonably hale and hearty. He didn’t half go off the boil quickly, though. I think he’d gone into training before, to snare her. Apparently he put in quite a few hours on the golf course, and then of course he gave the whole thing up when he moved into our house and never played a round again. He just sank into a sybaritic routine of lunching at his club in London once a week – which he could naturally afford to rejoin – and hobnobbing with all her friends down here.’

‘Did you mind?’ I asked him, as, having both ordered steak and chips, we moved to a table in the corner, which he’d reserved.

‘What, that he’d clearly married Mum for her money?’ Dan shrugged. ‘Not really. As I said before, it’s hers to do what she likes with. And she was clearly lonely after Piers had buggered off with her hairdresser. At least Archie was unlikely to do that.’

I hadn’t met Nancy’s third husband, but he’d been rather dashing, according to Mum. Quite a bit younger than her, in the mould of a Roddy Llewellyn, she’d told me. My mother’s knowledge of the Royal Family is encyclopaedic, but she’d had to remind me who he was.

‘You know, Princess Margaret’s young beau.’

‘Oh. No, not really.’

According to Mum, after flirting outrageously with Nancy’s beautician, Piers had finally disappeared with her mobile – and nubile – hairdresser. That in itself was a mystery, since Nance was never without a turban. It had at least relieved her of the effort of looking twenty years younger, though, which, as she’d confided to Mum, was a blessed relief. All that plucking and bleaching and lifting cans of baked beans in the air …

‘None of us siblings was too displeased to see the back of him,’ Dan told me now. ‘And since he’d only been married to Mum for three years, we did fight – successfully – to keep his hands out of the coffers. But there was no malice about Archie, so no, I didn’t object to two old people getting together for companionship.’ He shrugged. ‘And I suppose, from his point of view, a more comfortable life.’

Our steaks arrived. ‘Well, quite. Otherwise she’s just rattling around in an empty house.’

‘Until the next one appears.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Husband number five!’ he declared, miming a quiz show host opening a magic box.

I giggled. ‘D’you really think?’

He sighed rather despairingly. ‘Trust me, it’s only a matter of time.’ He poured me a glass of red wine and we tucked into our steaks. ‘But beware, Lucy,’ he waved his knife, ‘you get sucked into this existence remarkably quickly. It’s like quicksand. If you’ve got any aspirations to lead a normal life and continue with something even approaching a job, think again.’