He threw his bag of weed at Nathan Kearney, for rolling up. Coffee, coffee, they all insisted. But Zachary poured them out spirits with their coffee, something very sweet made of rose petals and flavoured with bergamot, the kind of thing that Alex would never usually have touched, but he drank it too because they were all under the spell of the occasion. All of them were drunk already, anyway: on the glamour of their success, Zachary’s success, as well as on the champagne. — Hari said such good things about you! Zachary put his arm around Christine, stretching his feet in their crimson socks out towards the stove; she arranged her own bare feet – nice enough, with their high arches and aristocratic long second toe – alongside his. Her toenails were elegantly painted for once, in a crimson that happened to match his socks. They were all sprawled across cushions on the thick Turkish rugs in front of the stove, holding out their hands to its warmth which melted and unknotted them invidiously and deliciously. Lydia, sitting upright with her back to the sofa, was the only one still alert, turning her head in her deliberate way towards whoever was speaking. The gossip went on desultorily. But one by one, once the coffee was finished, people were bound to make their farewells – even Jane Ogden, even Nathan – until only the four of them were left.