He had been drinking very hard for a week – only I knew how hard – and drinking in a nervous, surreptitious way, totally unlike his old habit. During the party there was always a grog tray in the library, and Sebastian took to slipping in there at odd moments during the day without saying anything even to me. The house was largely deserted during the day. I was at work painting another panel in the little garden-room in the colonnade. Sebastian complained of a cold, stayed in, and during all that time was never quite sober; he escaped attention by being silent. Now and then I noticed him attract curious glances, but most of the party knew him too slightly to see the change in him, while his own family were occupied, each with their particular guests.

When I remonstrated he said, ‘I can’t stand all these people about,’ but it was when they finally left and he had to face his family at close quarters that he broke down.

The normal practice was for a cocktail tray to be brought into the drawing-room at six; we mixed our own drinks and the bottles were removed when we went to dress; later, just before dinner, cocktails appeared again, this time handed round by the footmen.

Sebastian disappeared after tea; the light had gone and I spent the next hour playing mah-jongg with Cordelia. At six I was alone in the drawing-room, when he returned; he was frowning in a way I knew all too well, and when he spoke I recognized the drunken thickening in his voice.

‘Haven’t they brought the cocktails yet?’ He pulled clumsily on the bell-rope.

I said, ‘Where have you been?’

‘Up with nanny.’

‘I don’t believe it. You’ve been drinking somewhere.’

‘I’ve been reading in my room. My cold’s worse today’.

When the tray arrived he slopped gin and vermouth into a tumbler and carried it out of the room with him. I followed him upstairs, where he shut his bedroom door in my face and turned the key.

I returned to the drawing-room full of dismay and foreboding.

The family assembled. Lady Marchmain said: ‘What’s become of Sebastian?’

‘He’s gone to lie down. His cold is worse.’

‘Oh dear, I hope he isn’t getting flu. I thought he had a feverish look once or twice lately. Is there anything he wants?’

‘No, he particularly asked not to be disturbed.’

I wondered whether I ought to speak to Brideshead, but that grim, rock-crystal mask forbade all confidence. Instead, on the way upstairs to dress, I told Julia.

‘Sebastian’s drunk.’

‘He can’t be. He didn’t even come for a cocktail.’

‘He’s been drinking in his room all the afternoon.’

‘How very peculiar! What a bore he is! Will he be all right for dinner?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you must deal with him. It’s no business of mine. Does he often do this?’

‘He has lately.’

‘How very boring.’

I tried Sebastian’s door, found it locked, and hoped he was sleeping, but, when I came back from my bath, I found him sitting in the chair before my fire; he was dressed for dinner, all but his shoes, but his tie was awry and his hair on end; he was very red in the face and squinting slightly. He spoke indistinctly.