‘Here,’ he said, handing them to Eric. ‘Put some on, just to be on the safe side.’ Eric tended to his ankle, while the others studied the menu, drawn up in perfect French by Ginie earlier in the day. Dixon came in with a magnum of Dom Perignon and began to fill their glasses. Ginie stirred three lumps of sugar into her champagne and waited for the fizzing to stop before raising her glass.

‘I hope our badly behaved boy hasn’t put you off,’ she said gracefully. ‘It’s a real treat for Stephen and I to have you here. Thank you for coming and for giving us the chance to get to know you better.’

‘Thank you for having us.’

‘Cheers.’

They lifted their glasses and drank, glad of the distraction and enjoying the fine champagne. Stephen began talking to Mark about the orchids at La Rochelle. He was passionate about orchids, and had built four heated greenhouses for his collection. He kept journals and made an entry every time an orchid was planted, flowered, or died.

‘I had some Ansellia shipped from Mombasa,’ he said. ‘Very fine cuttings – one of them flowered today. They were the most beautiful I’ve seen; yellow with chocolate-brown patches.’

As he talked, he watched Mark’s attention drift to Ginie, who was stealing a moment to write in the gold-cased notebook she kept by her side during meals to tell the cook later what she was and wasn’t happy about. Mark’s eyes lingered on her smooth, bare arms and unease stirred in Stephen’s gut.

Ginie was very much in control of the dinner, ringing the bell so Dixon would come and take away their plates, or making sure everybody’s glass was topped up. Despite her critique, the food really was sublime: risotto with tomatoes from the garden, cotoletta milanese, tiramisu. A reflection of Ginie’s Italian influence. When Stephen and Mark had exhausted orchids, the whole table was quiet. The guests seemed inhibited, though they knew each other well and the party wasn’t taking off, in spite of all the drink.

Anne broke the lull by saying that when she was first married, she had a go at making jam with pineapples because they grew everywhere. But despite several tries, she couldn’t get it to set.

‘Yes, I tried too, it doesn’t set,’ said Diana and she described the revolting, jelly-like substance that had oozed from her saucepan and made a mess of the stove.