‘No, it’s for me.’ Jomier has said the wrong thing. Judith’s tone turns sharp. ‘I spent a fortune on her Christmas present.’

‘What did you give her?’

‘A pair of Camper boots.’

Jomier is prepared to believe that Camper boots are expensive and so says: ‘That’s very generous.’

‘What did you give your children?’

‘CDs. I gave Henry Parsifal and Louisa Don Carlos.’ Jomier wishes he had not raised the question of Christmas presents. He is wearing his fleece-lined gloves but notes that Judith is not wearing the racing-green cashmere jersey. It remains, carefully folded and half rewrapped, in their hotel bedroom.

A clock strikes midday. It is time to return to the hotel for the inclusive Christmas lunch. They have wandered further than they realised and are the last to enter the hotel restaurant. They are shown to their table – far from the window looking out on to the canal, close to the swinging doors into the kitchen. Tinsel and glitter decorate the table; crackers lie parallel to the knives and forks. There are other couples of a certain age sitting at tables for two but there are also tables for six or eight – families with grannies and in-laws and children and friends. Next to Jomier and Judith sits a party who are talking German: they are either Germans or Austrians or Swiss. Bottles of wine uncorked on the table are already half empty: they have got off to a flying start. A thickset freckled fifty-year-old with cropped orange hair sits facing Jomier. ‘Prost.’ He raises his glass. Jomier nods and smiles. His wine glass has not yet been filled: he raises it all the same. ‘Prost.’ A woman and a man with their backs to Judith and Jomier now turn and raise their glasses. ‘Prost.’ Again, Jomier and now also Judith raise their yet-to-be-filled glasses. The man who has turned – heavy, genial, bald – notices that their glasses are empty. ‘Ja, das geht nicht.’ He grabs hold of a half-full bottle of sparkling wine and stretches over to fill their glasses. He cannot reach their table. He stands. ‘No, no . . .’ Jomier tries to fend off this impulsive generosity. Impossible. Fizzy wine splashes into their glasses. Now the whole table of friendly Teutons turns towards them. ‘Fröhliche Weihnachten! Prosit Weihnachten!’ Jomier and Judith raise their half-filled glasses. ‘Thank you. Happy Christmas!’ They drink.

‘Did you know Brian?’

Jomier searches his memory in an effort to remember who Brian might be.

‘Ruth’s husband, Brian. Did you know him?’

‘Yes. Not well. He seemed nice enough. I don’t know what went wrong.’

‘He was under-sexed. They hardly ever made love.’

Jomier thinks of Ruth’s large behind. ‘Perhaps he didn’t fancy her?’

‘Then why did he marry her?’

Jomier thinks of his social-climbing friend Adrian Richards. ‘Was she smart? Or rich?’

‘Both. But she’s got through most of her money. And Ralph doesn’t bring in much.’

‘Ralph?’