I was braced for a thrashing, for having corrupted Ned’s hunky and horny oldest son. And now, as I learned, this thrashing was going to be administered in the study, which was more than fitting. The study is after all where, according to ancient Tudor lore, some forebear of Ned’s murdered the Godminster priest, having discovered him ‘chockinge his wife under ye chinne’, and where an indelible bloodstain in front of the fireplace is supposed to stand as proof of his crime, and proof that though years may pass nothing ever, really, changes between ye sexes.

I saunter in, all innocence, and take a seat opposite Ned, who remains standing, in a low armchair with velvet upholstery the colour of damson jam, worn threadbare in places. And then… so weird.

Ned doesn’t mention my liaison at all. He just starts talking about how complicated it all is, and raving about Little Ned.

Which is too bizarre – his son Little Ned is only eleven and I can’t think where I could come into any discussion of the child, as I immediately make clear.

‘What has Little Ned got to do with me?’ I ask sharply. I don’t add ‘and Jesse Marlon’ out of deference. After all, I am still married to Pierre, and it would be highly disrespectful to bracket myself in a breeding pair with Jesse Marlon. And I also don’t say ‘and Jesse Marlon’ because, to be frank, all this has come out too late. I could have killed Ceci for finding the letter from Jesse Marlon, days after I had already finished with him and found someone else, someone gentler, someone kitten-softer.

‘Oh gawd,’ groans Ned. ‘The cat’s among the pigeons. Errr. Agggh.’ He runs his hands through his hair, so it sticks up in spikes off his forehead. ‘Rose, you’re my only hope.’

‘Ned, what are you talking about? You’re talking like Obi Wan Kenobi.’ I allow myself to sound more assertive.

‘Listen, Rose, I’ve always liked you, and I don’t honestly give a monkey’s what you get up to, never have, each to their own, it’s your funeral, but, er – it’s like this.’ He ruffles his hair again. ‘It’s about Godminster. The estate.’ I mentally exhale. ‘I just thought we were all sorted, done and dusted, you know, and that Jesse Marlon would never want to take it on, and Lulu was naturally very keen to see the old place pass to Little Ned and all that. But then, it turns out that Jesse Marlon –’