Mum obliged girlishly and then dropped a shaky curtsey as Dad roared his approval. Helena and I often observed that our parents were like a couple of Italians: either at each other’s throats – well, mostly Mum at Dad’s – or deeply in love and happy. It seemed I’d happened upon the latter today, which was a blessing. When it transpired they’d been to the races a few days ago, with old friends the Gordons, and that Harold and Dad had both won a packet on the last race, which they’d celebrated with lashings of champagne, I realized why. Spirits were still high.

The Frobishers arrived madly early as old people do, so there was no time to look at the cottage or even get a suitcase out of the car. Their car purred up the drive just as I was sourcing some tinned sweetcorn, there being literally nothing else. I put some plates in a low oven and went through. Jeannie, my godmother, who I adored, a dirty diamond pinned haphazardly to her vast bosom, and Dickie, her suave, still elegant husband, with a slight limp from a polo fall, were delighted, if amazed to see me.

‘But darling – what will you do down here?’ Jeannie reached to take both my hands in hers, always tactile. ‘You’ll go mad with boredom. It’s just a short break, I take it?’

‘Er, well, no. Actually, I’m sort of here to look after them.’

She blinked. Looked astonished. ‘Them? Oh no, darling. They don’t need that.’ She laughed. ‘The very idea!’

My mother, as if on cue, sailed in with the fish fingers on a platter, followed by my father with a bowl of sweetcorn. We all filtered through to the dining room, which was freezing as usual. Aside from that, however, it was a convivial meal. I noticed Jeannie had to be gently guided to her chair by Dickie and then tapped away to find her knife and fork, and that Dickie shut his eyes for five minutes after the main course. Also that my mother ate very little but commandeered a bottle of white wine which she drank steadily, whilst Dad ate and drank heartily but remained entirely compos mentis, if extremely voluble, throughout. But other than that, it was unremarkable. And to be honest, if I hadn’t been looking for those things I might not have noticed them. It was only when Jeannie knocked her glass over and Dad went to the kitchen for a cloth that I noticed he had gloves on when he returned.

‘What are those for?’ I asked as he mopped up.

He looked surprised. ‘These? Oh, at about three o’clock I get a bit chilly. Always have done, especially in the extremities. All goes a bit numb. Now, your mother and Jeannie are having a little Sauternes with their pudding, can I tempt you?’