Morné is disappointed that she can’t come to the rugby. His disappointment gives her hope. She calls Estelle to tell her she’s coming down next week.

‘How is my darling Harry, Estelle?’

‘He’s happy. He likes the spring sunshine. Oh, by the way, the consultant is coming down on Monday, so we’ll have a better idea.’

‘I’ve missed Harry. Has he mentioned me at all?’

‘Yes, quite often.’

She wonders what he has been saying about her. Of course Estelle is now the official interpreter. Fleur hopes he hasn’t noticed her absence.

‘OK, Estelle, I will be at Nice Airport at 11.25 p.m. on Saturday, BA. Could you send the driver?’

‘Of course, Lady Trevelyan-Tubal. Jean-Marc will be waiting. And when will you be departing?’

‘Probably Tuesday or Wednesday. And Estelle, get Mr Abbott to ring me as soon as.’

She can’t bear to miss even a few days with Morné. In the little storeroom, lying on the mats this morning, their skins fervid and moist, he asked her if she would consider donating to his sports foundation.

‘I could make a small donation if it helped.’

‘You a doll,’ he said. And demonstrated that he could make love twice in a few minutes.

It was predictable that he would ask for money, but she tries not to think it has any relation to the sex in that windowless room, and she tries not to think that he sees himself as offering a service in return. As she quickly discovered when she married into the family, the rich always find it difficult to know how genuine their friends and acquaintances and flatterers are, but she’s happy to help if it ties him to her for a while longer. She’s lost all dignity, but at the same time she knows that this isn’t going to last and perversely, desperate though she is, it’s comforting to know. It’s like a play, the information in the first act – Chekhov’s gun on the wall, et cetera – always gives clues to the third act. And there are plenty of pointers in this first act.