He makes a harrumphing noise. ‘I suppose everyone in a bicorn hat’s Napoleon until proven otherwise. Napoleon or Nelson.’ He rotates the figure in his hand, to check the back of the head. ‘It’s not junk, I’ll say that for it. It’s nice work, really nice. And that hat is actually rather Napoleonic. Tall, none of the gold-bullion-lace trim Nelson’s hat had . . . I don’t think.’ He repositions his glasses on his nose, focuses his attention on the edge of the hat. ‘No.’ He passes the soldier back to Simon. ‘It’s around the same scale as that Austrian one you’re working on. That one you’ve had forever. Perhaps exactly the same scale. Interesting. I’m assuming you’ll be revealing progress on that?’

‘Yes!’ Faye says. ‘Brian, you’ve made his day. Of course he wants to show you his progress with his little soldier. It’s his obsession right now. One of his obsessions. He’s always up there doing something to it, or researching it.’

‘Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,’ Simon sings in a booming cartoon-Germanic voice, his wineglass again in his right hand, his left holding the figurine and conducting. ‘There’s that song again,’ he says to me. ‘That hymn from school, “Praise the Lord Ye Heav’ns Adore Him”. Kaiser Franz was my Austrian guy’s ultimate boss. That was the original version of the hymn, I think, an anthem for him.’ He waves the figurine in my direction. ‘Do you have any idea how much fun I’m going to have restoring this? Let’s take him upstairs to meet the enemy. Brian?’

‘Lead on, Macduff.’ Brian rakes his chair back and stands, bumping the table and jangling the cutlery.

‘Cake after,’ Faye says as Simon takes the stairs two at a time. ‘Sugar-free. Very healthy but yummy. I’ll make coffee right now for anyone not excited about toy soldiers.’

Simon is already at the bench near the window by the time Brian and I get to the study door. The Civil War ship is where it was, undisturbed. The games too, but Swallows and Amazons is out of sight. Simon still has the battered figurine in his left hand as he sorts through loose pages with his right.

‘This is what I was going with,’ he says, without turning. Behind the standing painted soldier, he places three pages in a row, each of them with pictures of military officers and uniforms from centuries ago, all of them the same or at most minimally different. ‘This is the beauty of restoring something now – other nerdy people have posted everything you need on the internet. I took off any flaking paint and left any that was adherent, and I’ve been repainting according to my best guess, which is that he’s chevau-léger – light horse. That’s what we settled on, isn’t it? Austrian light horse, Napoleonic Wars?’

He glances at Brian, who nods. ‘Only looks more likely now there’s a bit more paint on him.’