Pearly had never gone to Andrew’s place when they were at school, never met his parents. Out of school time they’d had very little to do with each other. ‘Tell me about your garden, Helen,’ said Andrew, with real interest apparent in his voice. ‘I’m very ignorant about flowers, but I admire people who are creative. I know things like daffodils, roses and pansies, of course, but what are those dark shrubs with the lovely pink flowers?’ Helen enjoyed talking about her garden, and their guest encouraged her. Although interesting in his own conversation, he was also skilled in drawing out companions and in time came around to Pearly.

‘You’ve just carried on, haven’t you, Pearly,’ he said. ‘A natural head honcho.’ There was nothing challenging or snide in his tone. What reason did a knight of the realm have for envy? ‘What about the sport?’ he continued. ‘That’s what I remember most about you at school.’

‘I kept at it, especially with footy. I played a few seasons for Otago, but I got a couple of injuries that stopped me going further, or perhaps I just wasn’t good enough.’

‘Maybe a blessing long-term that you didn’t go all the way,’ said Andrew. ‘Some of these guys at the top level for years must get badly knocked about. It must catch up with you in time.’ He was casually dressed, but there was something about his clothes that suggested both quality and fashion. They were soft and the fit just right. The collar of his open-neck, pale blue shirt had a pink lining, his trousers rested with just one pucker on his shoes. Helen would remark on all of that when the visit was over. Pearly was aware of the run-of-the-mill nature of his own striped shirt and the trousers tight at the waist, too wide in the legs.

Andrew’s life was very different to theirs, and Helen drew from him fascinating anecdotes — self-deprecating, witty and quite beyond her experience. Meetings with Prince Charles and Stephen Hawking, fellowships at Yale and Edinburgh, an address to the International Monetary Fund members in Washington, being accidentally locked in an outdoor lavatory while in Rakvere, Estonia.

Pearly wasn’t used to being so easily overshadowed, but Helen had lived so long with his accomplishments and stories that familiarity had diminished them. Andrew had the novelty of a distinguished newcomer and one from a distant, significant place.

‘What is it you actually do?’ said Pearly. ‘I have to introduce you, remember, at the dinner. I read the article, but I don’t think Paul Wrinskley had a clue. Fiscal modelling. What’s that?’

‘It’s producing projections of economic and fiscal variables, such as GDP and core debt, to help in national planning. It’s very boring indeed, and of vital importance.’