‘Charles, what you said was quite true. Not with nanny. Been drinking whisky up here. None in the library now party’s gone. Now party’s gone and only mummy. Feeling rather drunk. Think I’d better have something-on-a-tray up here. Not dinner with mummy.’

‘Go to bed,’ I told him. ‘I’ll say your cold’s worse.’

‘Much worse.’

I took him to his room which was next to mine and tried to get him to bed, but he sat in front of his dressing table squinnying at himself in the glass, trying to remake his bow-tie. On the writing table by the fire was a half-empty decanter of whisky. I took it up, thinking he would not see, but he spun round from the mirror and said: ‘You put that down.’

‘Don’t be an ass, Sebastian. You’ve had enough.’

‘What the devil’s it got to do with you? You’re only a guest here – my guest. I drink what I want to in my own house.’

He would have fought me for it at that moment.

‘Very well,’ I said, putting the decanter back, ‘only for God’s sake keep out of sight.’

‘Oh, mind your own business. You came here as my friend; now you’re spying on me for my mother, I know. Well, you can get out, and tell her from me that I’ll choose my friends and she her spies in future.’

So I left him and went down to dinner.

‘I’ve been in to Sebastian,’ I said. ‘His cold has come on rather badly. He’s gone to bed and says he doesn’t want anything.’

‘Poor Sebastian,’ said Lady Marchmain. ‘He’d better have a glass of hot whisky. I’ll go and have a look at him.’

‘Don’t mummy, I’ll go,’ said Julia rising.

‘I’ll go,’ said Cordelia, who was dining down that night, for a treat to celebrate the departure of the guests. She was at the door and through it before anyone could stop her.

Julia caught my eye and gave a tiny, sad shrug.

In a few minutes Cordelia was back, looking grave. ‘No, he doesn’t seem to want anything,’ she said.

‘How was he?’

‘Well, I don’t know, but I think he’s very drunk,’ she said.

‘Cordelia.’

Suddenly the child began to giggle. ‘ “Marquis’s Son Unused to Wine”,’ she quoted. ‘ “Model Student’s Career Threatened”.’

‘Charles, is this true?’ asked Lady Marchmain.

‘Yes.’

Then dinner was announced, and we went to the dining-room where the subject was not mentioned.

When Brideshead and I were left alone he said: ‘Did you say Sebastian was drunk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Extraordinary time to choose. Couldn’t you stop him?’

‘No.’

‘No,’ said Brideshead, ‘I don’t suppose you could. I once saw my father drunk, in this room. I wasn’t more than about ten at the time. You can’t stop people if they want to get drunk. My mother couldn’t stop my father, you know.’

He spoke in his odd, impersonal way. The more I saw of this family, I reflected, the more singular I found them. ‘I shall ask my mother to read to us tonight.’