Catalina came in with a glass of red wine. Vico poured some for us, and Catalina went to the far end of the dining room to put on some music. I’d given up hope of interacting with her; I was looking at a drawing when she walked past and murmured: ‘Picasso was good in bed, but that drawing he dashed off in five minutes is better than any story I could tell you.’ She carried on by, sat at the head of the table and summoned the cook with a little bell.

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Tania on the phone: ‘No, forget Picasso, you want some real gossip? At the party last night, the Most Important Artist in Mexico seriously overdid it. Marcelito was so drunk he broke the sink in the bathroom, imagine. And Natalia slept with Manuel. She said it was a bad idea. Unbelievable, right? She told me herself, I ran into her just now buying a coffee. She’s not embarrassed – if you see her having breakfast, pull up a chair and she’ll tell you everything that happened last night. I have the feeling that if she’d seen a film, she would have quoted some of the dialogue for me. I think the way she is matches her work, I like that about her.’