‘Oh dear, did I get it wrong again?’ Baxter rubbed a hand against his round head, which was mostly bald except for the odd patch of grey hair sprouting like scrub on a wasteland. He was by far the tallest – and broadest – person in the room, and despite the craggy face and saggy stomach, he radiated the kind of energy that commanded attention. Unlike the rest of us, he wore a white dinner jacket and trousers, with his only acknowledgement of the dress code a red bow tie.

‘Don’t worry, lots of us struggle to remember the name of someone we’ve worked with on a daily basis for eight months.’ As Melody spoke, a huge screen above the opulent fireplace lit up. On it was a table similar to that used to rate competitors in sporting events, and as we watched the top name – Calvin Cotton – swapped places with the second name – mine.

I was still trying to absorb this bizarre scenario when Baxter bellowed again.

‘Who’s this?’ He squinted at Henry, who was grasping a squirming baby while adopting a blank expression that I guessed meant he was fighting the urge to turn and run. ‘He wasn’t on the shortlist.’

‘This is Bea’s driver. You said he should join us.’

‘Ah, the driver! Yes. Very good.’

‘Henry Fairfax.’ Henry stepped towards Baxter, wedging Betty on one hip so he could offer a handshake.

Baxter shook his head. ‘I don’t do touching and I’ve already forgotten what you said, but do join in the fun. Add Driver to the board, please, Melinda.’

‘Um, what?’ Several people in the room murmured their objection. Others looked positively appalled. There were now nine names on the board, but surely with Henry included this couldn’t have anything to do with the job interviews?

Once Summer had joined us a minute later, causing Baxter to announce that she was ‘last, but not quite least!’, he demanded more drinks before the ‘formal proceedings commence’.

Melody disappeared, taking a fretful Betty with her, and Henry and I had found a spare sofa to perch on when she reappeared, two boys trooping behind her carrying trays of champagne flutes that wobbled so precariously I had to sit on my hands to stop me from jumping up and helping them.

‘Am I getting older or are the staff around here a lot younger than they used to be?’ Baxter asked, giving a nod of thanks to Benji as he helped himself to a glass.

‘This is what happens when you grant the regular staff a Christmas night out without checking the diary with me first,’ Melody said, busily handing out glasses. ‘I can’t do everything.’

‘I thought your capable husband was working.’