The funeral, she thinks, as she checks the invoices for flowers and transport, catering and funeral directors, was a wonderful occasion. The memorial service in October will be the social event with the City, family friends, staff, the guilds, the clients (as they are now called), the law, some Rothschilds, Prince Andrew, politicians and the Business Secretary – if his party is still in power – a trustee or two from Koopman’s, and representatives of all the charities Harry has supported – they always turn up in their sackcloth, begging bowls barely concealed. But the funeral was very intimate: the Bishop of London gave a fine eulogy, and Julian spoke movingly. Her heart broke as they carried out the coffin for cremation as Harry had specified. She had to walk at the rear of the important people, just ahead of the office staff, but she understood. They didn’t want to accept how close she was to Harry. She had confirmed that he wanted his ashes spread in the sea beyond the villa. Alas, he had also asked that the ceremony be performed from Niobe.

The flowers were wonderful, simple but lavish. All Hallows is seldom used these days but when it was first consecrated in 1382 it was one of the most important churches in London with a huge nave and towering stained-glass windows. Every pew was full. Harry’s father commissioned Chagall to design the window behind the altar blown out in the Blitz and it is a thing of beauty, bathing the mourners in sub-marine blue.

From the smoking room she sees that this is the end of the line for her. It is a curious vantage point. She can’t camp in her little house in Antibes if Julian and Kim are going to use the villa. Simon has also expressed an interest. He feels like settling down. She was anyway only living there to be with Harry in his decline and she will always cherish her conversations with him as they became so close. Poor Fleur: Harry hated her at the end. With all his artistic interests and love of life, being cut off by the stroke was unbearable to him. By giving her the Matisse he has made it plain that he loved and valued her; the painting was something he treasured most, of all his possessions. She was reluctant to accept, but he insisted – he could still speak a few sentences – on her writing a note, which he signed: For my dearest Estelle Welz, I bequeath my Matisse painting of the open window at Collioure. The note is in a safe-deposit box along with the picture.