Len never gets beyond the large doormat in the front hall. But he beams inwards, radiating hope. The nanny leads the children up the stairs. They – and she – sleep on the fourth floor, high above the gardens of Ladbroke Square. Julian likes it up there in the Peter Pan world, the trees below thrashing or oscillating or sighing.

‘How did it go, darling?’

‘Oh, fine. Some trust business in the place we never mention, and then on to see the old man. Fairly routine.’

‘How is he?’

‘On the way out, I’m afraid. Even the sainted Estelle admits that he’s deteriorating. But I think he’s happy. Anyway I hope he’s happy, but it’s hard to tell. It’s actually tragic: he looks pretty well and he is still a snappy dresser, but it’s like watching, I don’t know, a shadow play or something. It’s one-dimensional. Mr Abbott is going out to assess him formally. Kim, let’s have a drink. I feel as though I need one, if that isn’t a little corny.’

‘It is a little cheesy – stressed exec comes home to little wifey and they hit the booze, but who cares? Not me. Welcome home, honey-bun.’

They sit in the small panelled study behind the drawing room. All his inclinations are towards the small and the cosy these days, as if size and opulence have conspired to diminish him. As if he’s too small a figure in an expansive landscape. Kimberly sits next to him, very close.

‘I saw your stepmother last night.’

‘How is she? And by the way, please don’t call Fleur my stepmother, not even in jest.’

‘Oh, she was having a grand old time. We went to dinner around the corner.’

‘Did she mention Dad?’

‘She said she was going out to see him at Easter, I think.’

‘Do you like her?’

‘That’s a strange question to ask now. Yes, I like her, but I think she’s a little worried about what happens next. Why do you ask?’

‘I don’t know really. She’s concerned, but her concern doesn’t extend to going to see Dad.’

‘Maybe, but it’s more complicated. She’s playing the role of lost soul. That’s probably why they become actors, because they can’t quite accept life as it is.’

‘Do you really think that’s true? I mean about actors?’

Julian feels a twinge of impatience: she’s too ready with the obvious remark. But he also needs her optimism and straightforwardness more now than ever. Her eyes have an engaging openness; so many of us have wary, clouded eyes, he thinks.

‘I’ll just go up and kiss the kids goodnight. What’s for supper?’

‘An omelette and fruit salad. Is that OK? You said simple?’

‘That sounds just perfect. I’ll be right down.’