Anora, sweet-faced and anxious, said, “Well, ma’am, I’ve always loved a good trifle, and since my family is from Trinidad, I’m honoring them with melon balls, candied yams, butterscotch treacle and shredded coconut, with a drizzle of caramel and rum.”

“Your Highness?” said Miles, handing Edgar a silver spoon.

“I must tell you,” said Edgar, as if confiding a sexual fetish, “I wait all year for Christmas trifle. If you’d allow me, I’d devour everyone’s trifles on the spot. But Anora, yours looks delicious.”

Edgar dipped his spoon, snaring several layers, and tasted. He beamed. “This is heavenly! I can taste the yams, the butterscotch and the sublime coconut! It’s a symphony! Well done, Anora!”

Edgar wasn’t faking any of this; the man loved trifle. And I loved the man.

“Although I’m not sure we need the caramel,” Agatha commented, having dipped her own spoon. Agatha was supplying balance: “While caramel is always welcome, it occasionally becomes a lingering guest who’s misplaced his car keys.” After each of us had tried a trifle, we’d rotate and taste the others.

“Your Highnesses?” said Miles, handing spoons to Gerald and Maureen. “May I present Angus, who’s recently had a hip replacement following a workplace mishap, but who’s never stopped baking.”

Angus, an older man with a cane and a curlicued moustache, said, in a rugged accent, “I’ve tried to create a sophisticated trifle, using malt bouillon, diced almondine wafers and a suggestion of raspberry gelatin, mingled with mascarpone, which I’ve tinted to resemble stained glass. It was me mum’s recipe.”

“It’s unusual,” Gerald decided, after a brimming spoonful, “perhaps a mite academic. But a worthy effort, even with reservations.”

Oh, please, Gerald, I thought. Stop puffing yourself up as if you’re the Global Trifle Authority.

“I’m enjoying it,” said Maureen, who’d of course only nibbled, to appear ladylike and avoid excess calories. “The mascarpone matches the amber stripe in one of our guest bedrooms, so good job on your colour palette.”

“Colour palette”? Really? Okay, now I was just being snarky.

“And Mr. Ogden,” said Agatha, “would you please do us the honor of sampling Harriet’s trifle?”

Harriet was tall and narrow, with a nature guide’s can-do pluck. “I’ve given this much thought, and I’m so pleased to meet His Highness and Mr. Ogden, because I’ve always dreamed of creating a rainbow trifle. So I’ve used blueberries, strawberries, lemon rind and celery, along with my signature crushed ginger biscuits, splashes of fresh peppermint and homemade grape jelly from my pantry. And for a final touch, I’ve added a candle accent.”

The trifle was ringed with lit rainbow candles and looked like the happiest pride parade float. I was determined to love it, because of Harriet’s toothy smile, her politics and her trombone habit.

I dipped my spoon between the candles, tasted and swallowed.