‘I was just telling your father,’ announced Beverley in a regal tone, without so much as a hello, ‘that he’s a moron.’

‘Well, of course he’s a moron,’ said Elizabeth. ‘That’s old news.’

‘Do you know, it’s such a joy to have a supportive family,’ replied George, walking over to the drinks cabinet, where he poured himself a large whisky and made a point of ignoring everyone else’s needs. ‘At a time like this, when it feels as if the entire world is turning on me, at least I know I can return home to the warm embrace of my nearest and dearest and they will tell me how loved and respected I am. Hello, Wilkes. What’s that on your head? Is it a small fox? And would it be terribly rude if I remarked that I can smell you from here? I have a horrible feeling that you might be decomposing.’

‘It’s a man bun,’ replied Wilkes, putting a hand to the tiny dark hillock at the back of his head. ‘And I’m not surprised. I haven’t had a wash in eight days.’

Beverley turned to look at him, wrinkling her nose.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

‘It’s a new regime that I’ve started,’ he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her, which immediately made her stand up and move to the window seat. ‘Do you know, the human body is actually self-cleaning?’

‘Like our new oven,’ added Elizabeth helpfully.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ asked George.

‘It’s true. We spend so much of our time taking baths and showers, scrubbing layers off our epidermis, then adding pollutants to our skin, but in reality, after a couple of weeks, the body releases its own natural purifiers and cleans itself. In fact, the more soap you use, the more your skin dries out.’

‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life,’ said Beverley. ‘And I speak as someone who once heard Jeffrey Archer delivering a lecture to the Royal Society of Literature.’

‘In fact, it’s only in the last century or so that people have started to use shampoo,’ continued Wilkes, warming to his theme. ‘And in the last few decades we’ve become inundated with hand soaps, shower gels and bath salts which, yes, might make us smell nice for a couple of hours, but they’re not natural, are they? Why should a person smell of pomegranate seeds and cassis, after all? A person should smell of person.’

‘Well, you certainly do,’ said George. ‘You smell like all the people of the world, since the dawn of time, put together into one big blender. Are we going to be forced to put up with this unholy stench until our daughter comes to her senses and breaks up with you?’