‘D’you mean John St John John?’ says Suze, suddenly tuning into the conversation. ‘How on earth do you know him? That’s Pucky,’ she adds to me. ‘Have you met Pucky?’

God knows if I’ve met Pucky. All Suze’s childhood friends are called things like Pucky and Binky and Minky. They basically blend into one braying, cheery human Labrador.

‘Er … maybe.’

‘You’ve met Pucky.’ She turns to Luke. ‘I know you’ve met him.’

‘Tarquin’s investment manager,’ says Luke thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I did. Runs the media arm of your business interests?’

‘Something like that,’ says Suze vaguely, then beams at Tarkie, who’s returning from the Gents. ‘Darling, they know Pucky.’

‘Good Lord.’ Tarkie’s face brightens. ‘Extraordinary coincidence.’

‘Pucky?’ Ken Kerrow looks perplexed.

‘Called him that ever since prep school,’ Tarkie explains. ‘Marvellous chap. He’s worked with me, what, ten years now?’

‘Worked with you?’ Ken Kerrow’s eyes focus on Tarquin anew. ‘You in film?’

‘Film?’ Tarkie looks horrified at the idea. ‘Good Lord, no. I’m a farmer. You were saying something earlier about an “ark”? Do you mean Noah’s Ark?’

‘Tarquin, can I ask you a question?’ says Luke. His mouth is twitching and he looks highly amused at something. ‘I know you have a few media interests among your investments. Has Pucky ever backed any films for you?’

‘Oh!’ Tarquin’s expression clears. ‘Ahm. Well. As a matter of fact, yes, he has. Perhaps that’s the connection.’

‘Films?’ Suze stares at him. ‘You never told me!’

‘This is your investor,’ says Luke to Ken Kerrow, and jerks a thumb at Tarquin. ‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’

‘Please,’ says Tarkie, flushing red. ‘Tarquin.’

Ken Kerrow looks as though he’s choked on his fillet steak. ‘That’s you?’

‘Lord?’ Sage looks up from her phone for the first time.

‘Lord Cleath-Stuart.’ Ken Kerrow is gesticulating at his wife. ‘This is the Brit backer. You backed Fiddler’s Game,’ he adds to Tarquin, in sudden realization. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Ahm … yes.’ Tarquin looks a little hunted. ‘That sounds right.’

‘It made thirty million its opening weekend. You picked a winner.’

‘Well, it was Pucky,’ says Tarkie modestly. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t know one film from another.’

‘Excuse me,’ says Ken Kerrow. ‘I’m going to find my co-producer. I’d love for you to meet him.’ He leaps up and practically sprints to a nearby table, where I can see him whispering frantically to another guy in a tux.

‘Tarkie!’ exclaims Suze, and bangs the table. ‘Since when do we invest in films? You should have told me!’

‘But, darling,’ says Tarkie anxiously. ‘You said you weren’t interested in our investments.’

‘I meant boring things like stocks and shares! Not films—’ Suze breaks off and fixes Tarkie with an accusing gaze. ‘Tell me the truth. Have we been invited to premieres?’

‘Ahm …’ Tarkie’s eyes slide around nervously. ‘You’d have to ask Pucky. I probably told him we weren’t interested.’

‘Weren’t interested?’ Suze’s voice rises to a screech.

‘Your Lordship!’ Ken Kerrow is back at the table. ‘It is my honour to present my co-producer, Alvie Hill.’