Sometimes, Stephen wished he could exude charm as Ginie did. They were the antithesis of each other – their guests must have looked at them and wondered at the inexplicable pairing of personalities. He knew people found him dour and difficult to talk to. He did better in small groups. With a crowd, he tended to retreat into a corner.

He was assailed by a fierce longing for his cubbyhole at Eltham Palace. After a formal dinner there, he would retreat to the library. There was a concealed door behind one of the bookcases, through which he would disappear into a cramped space that had just enough room for an armchair, a table and a lamp. The butler would leave a bottle of wine, a glass, and the days’ papers on the table and Stephen would settle in happily. Sometimes, he heard guests come into the library in search of him, asking the servants where he was. The servants never let on, though they all knew he was in the cubbyhole.

‘Tell us about that beautiful thing,’ Diana said to him. She pointed at a large porcelain bowl with a series of scenes painted on it in gentle, luminous tones. ‘It looks like it has a story.’ She had quiet blue eyes and her voice was a little hesitant.

‘It does, you’re quite right,’ said Stephen.

He got up eagerly and brought it over, glad of the chance to talk about one of his beloved objects. The sinking sun was sending a welter of gold, pink and violet into the soft grey sky.

‘The tale goes that Cupid accidentally scratched his mother, Venus, with one of his arrows,’ he began, settling back down in his chair, ‘And she fell madly in love with Adonis.’ He pointed to the figures on the bowl, ‘here’s Cupid watching.’

Diana’s freckled face was rapt. ‘Wonderful, so intricate. And what’s this other one?’

‘It’s Venus telling Adonis the story of the huntress, Atalanta.’

‘I don’t think I know anything about her.’

‘Well, an oracle had told Atalanta that she shouldn’t get married. There was a young man called Hippomenes who wanted to marry her, so she challenged him to a race. If he won, she would marry him. But if he lost, he’d die. Venus gave him some golden apples to distract Atalanta. Here they are with the apples, see?’

Diana nodded.

‘Hippomenes won,’ continued Stephen, ‘but he was so full of his own happiness that he forgot to thank Venus and she turned the pair of them into lions. You can read the whole thing in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, I think you would enjoy it.’

‘Oh, what a sad tale,’ said Diana, wistfully. ‘It makes me want to order the book right away.’

Mark had been listening to the latter part of their conversation.

‘Are you encouraging my bookworm?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Stephen.