‘You’ll love him, chérie. He’s a wonderful man. To be honest, I’m showing off. He adores your movies. I think he must have seen them all.’

I shake my head in disbelief. My trainers are caked in mud. I’m soaking wet. A couple of hard miles have raised more than a sweat. Lunch?

‘Can’t we make it some other time? Like this evening? We could invite him out somewhere. I don’t mind paying.’

Christianne shakes her head. We’re a little late already. Bill is very forgiving, she says, but she knows his views on punctuality.

‘A word about his little dog,’ she adds. ‘Her name’s Hundchen. Bill got her as a stray in Berlin. She’s old now, and she’s going blind, poor thing, but we all love her.’ She smiles. ‘Especially me.’

We’re in the driveway by now. A green Range Rover, slightly battered, is parked on the semicircle of gravel in front of the house. The name ‘Bill’ has triggered a memory. One of the estate agents’ windows in the High Street, I think. Nothing under a million pounds.

‘Evelyn knows him?’ I ask.

‘Of course. They play bridge together. And she loves Hundchen as much as I do.’

We mount the steps to the front door, and Christianne rings the bell. Inside, I can hear a dog yapping, then the door opens and I’m looking at a tall, thin figure, slightly stooped. He’s wearing a pair of salmon-coloured chinos, and a check shirt open at the neck, and after he’s submitted to a long hug from Christianne, his gaze settles on me. He has a slight cast in one eye which should be disconcerting but somehow isn’t.

‘Ahhh …’ The smile, unforced, is full of warmth. ‘Do, please, come in.’

The house smells of furniture polish and fresh flowers. The entrance hall has parquet flooring, and a couple of exquisite rugs. A staircase winds up to a gallery on the first floor, and the walls – a deep green – are hung with antique prints.

Sir William, as I’ll call him, takes my borrowed plastic mac and Christianne’s anorak, and we both leave our shoes at the door. Christianne touches Sir William lightly on the arm and asks whether she might give me a tour of the house.

‘Of course, my dear. You’ll know where to find me.’ Sir William gives me a cheerful wink and disappears down the hall. Moments later, I hear the chink-chink of cutlery. Already, Christianne is halfway up the staircase. The dog has appeared from nowhere and seems to recognize her scent. It mounts the stairs one by one, wheezing slightly, while Christianne directs my attention to a fall of rich material in blues and browns and whites, hanging on the wall.

‘Batik,’ she says. ‘Bill served in Jakarta for a while. I think it was his first posting as ambassador.’