But before I could escape, a short, slender man with altogether too much hair and a black silk fedora perched precariously on top of it took the guard’s place, scooping up my companion’s hand for a mealy-mouthed kiss.

‘Genevieve, there you are, what an exceptional gown,’ he cooed. ‘Stephen?’

Underneath her dense makeup, Genevieve’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Andrew, you recognize it from Paris,’ she gushed. ‘Have you met Francesca?’

‘Not yet,’ he said, turning his greedy eyes on to me. I balked as he picked up my hand and pressed his dry lips against it, forcing myself to smile in the name of politeness. ‘Andrew Jergens.’

‘Francesca Anderson,’ I said, withdrawing my hand and subtly wiping it against the back of my skirt. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Anderson, Anderson, Anderson.’ He said my name over and over while he stared up into my face. ‘Are you the one who just married Voss Anderson?’

‘God, no,’ I replied without thinking. ‘Is that even a real name?’

Andrew and Genevieve both burst out laughing.

‘He won’t like that one bit,’ he replied before pulling an obnoxiously large vape pen out of his pocket and taking a heavy drag. ‘So tell us, Francesca Anderson, how did you come to be here this evening? I thought I knew every name on the guest list. You know I helped Carden put it together? We’ve tried to change things up a bit this year.’

‘As long as you didn’t invite any undesirables,’ Genevieve replied, casting a filthy look around the room. ‘I’m all for freshening the mix, but I do hope that’s possible without lowering the tone. The polo was a hideous mess this year.’

‘No lowering the tone here; if anything, we’re raising it,’ Andrew assured her. ‘I have it on good authority a certain princess will be attending.’

‘Meghan?’ I asked excitedly.

‘Um, no,’ he replied shiftily.

‘Kate?’

He shook his head and the fedora wobbled.

‘Eugenie?’ I guessed with fading enthusiasm. ‘Beatrice?’

‘Not British royalty,’ Andrew said, clearing his throat. ‘She’s from somewhere in Eastern Europe, one of those countries that doesn’t exist any more, and I haven’t actually met her, but still, adds a certain something to have an HRH, don’t you think?’

‘Absolutely,’ Genevieve agreed. ‘My mother was very pally with the Queen Mother’s chief lady-in-waiting’s next-door neighbour and they really are just another class. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told Artemis at the polo, I shan’t rush back if they’re going to insist on inviting all those Click-Clock children, shoving their phones in everyone’s faces. It’s bloody rude.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that here,’ Andrew assured her with a condescending pat on the shoulder. ‘You know all phones are banned inside the ballroom.’

On cue, they both burst out laughing at a joke I had somehow missed.