“What shall we have to drink?” says Suze. “Tarquin, you choose.”

“Oh, look!” shrieks Fenella. “There’s Eddie Lazenby! I must just say hello.” She leaps to her feet and makes for a balding guy in a blazer, ten tables away. How she spotted him in this throng, I’ve no idea.

“Suze!” cries another voice, and we all look up. A blond girl in a tiny pastel-pink suit is heading toward our table, arms stretched out for a hug. “And Tarkie!”

“Hello, Tory,” says Tarquin, getting to his feet. “How’s Mungo?”

“He’s over there!” says Tory. “You must come and say hello!”

How is it that Fenella and Tarquin spend most of their time in the middle of Perthshire, but the minute they set foot in London, they’re besieged by long-lost friends?

“Eddie says hi,” announces Fenella, returning to the table. “Tory! How are you? How’s Mungo?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” says Tory. “But listen, have you heard? Caspar’s back in town!”

“No!” everyone exclaims, and I’m almost tempted to join in. No one has bothered to introduce me to Tory, but that’s the way it goes. You join the gang by osmosis. One minute you’re a complete stranger, the next you’re shrieking away with the rest of them, going “Did you hear about Venetia and Sebastian?”

“Look, we must order,” says Suze. “We’ll come and say hello in a minute, Tory.”

“Okay, ciao,” says Tory, and she sashays off.

“Suze!” cries another voice, and a girl in a little black dress comes rushing up. “And Fenny!”

“Milla!” they both cry. “How are you? How’s Benjy?”

Oh God, it just doesn’t stop. Here I am, staring at the menu, pretending to be really interested in the starters but really feeling like some utter loser that no one wants to talk to. It’s not fair. I want to table-hop, too. I want to bump into old friends I’ve known since babyhood. (Although to be honest, the only person I’ve known that long is Tom from next door, and he’ll be in his limed oak kitchen in Reigate.)

But just in case, I lower my menu and gaze hopefully around the restaurant. Please, God, just once, let there be someone I recognize. It doesn’t have to be anyone I like, or even know that well—just someone I can rush up to and go mwah mwah and shriek, “We must do lunch!” Anyone’ll do. Anyone at all . . .

And then, with a disbelieving thrill, I spot a familiar face, a few tables away! It’s Luke Brandon, sitting at a table with a smartly dressed older man and woman.

Well, he’s not exactly an old friend—but I know him, don’t I? And I so want to table-hop like the others.

“Oh look, there’s Luke!” I shriek (quietly, so he doesn’t hear). “I simply must go and say hello!”

As the others look at me in surprise, I toss my hair back, leap to my feet, and hurry off, full of a sudden exhilaration. I can do it, too! I’m table-hopping at Terrazza. I’m an It-girl!