‘Hold on there, Ned, Jesse Marlon, would you, a minute?’ Granville says, quicker off the mark than anyone else, and I can just see why he’s made a fortune in the City. For the first time, I sense the mind like a rat-trap behind the bonhomous front, and I feel a little bristle of anticipation. ‘Wind is a nice way of raking in a few thousand in revenue every year without lifting a finger, thanks to the subsidy provided by the taxpayer, eh, Ned? We’re told they’re cheap, free, etc., but in fact they cost a fortune to erect and are subsidized to the tune of millions of pounds by the electricity companies, who are legally obliged to supply a chunk of their energy from renewable sources, i.e. wind. You’re not harnessing the power of wind, Ned. You’re skimming off profit – what will you get, ooh, let’s see – my guess is something in the region of £15,000 a year? Mmm? Which will cover the cost of two terms out of the three for one of the twins at Marlborough, no?’

And then Granville reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Across the table, Ralph’s eyes meet mine, with that look that says, ‘Christ, Mimi. I know how much you love a good drama, but I’m perfectly happy with beans on toast at home. Why on earth do you insist on dragging me to these things?’

At Granville’s words, Ned sloshes more Château Talbot into his glass. The wine has been chosen by Cath. She told Ralph earlier that she had discovered ‘her inner grape’ after they bought a château in Bordeaux, and he had replied that it was jolly nice for them all that she had.

Maddocks wrings his hands impotently behind his elegant shoulder. Lulu takes another sip of Perrier. Henry and Biddy gaze into space, wearing that detached look you see on dog owners’ faces as their pets void their bowels on to the greensward of London’s Royal Parks. Cath toys with her napkin, not looking at any of her guests, and I notice a red flush creeping up her slender neck, blotches on her embonpoint. The young Golden Couple are smiling, too wrapped up in their own fairytale narrative to see the plot twisting ahead. The Revd Wyldbore-Smith is making a soothing humming noise, as if the sound will preclude anyone else from voicing anything more provocative.