Jomier does not express these thoughts to Ruth. No one, not even Jomier, wants to be thought uncultured. He assures Ruth that he will go to see the Gormleys at the Royal Academy or the Freuds at the Tate; and, when caught out at missing a show at Dulwich or Whitechapel, he hits his forehead with the palm of his hand to show his exasperation at his own forgetfulness. Or he lies. Yes, no sooner had he read Dorment’s review in the Telegraph than he went straight to Cork Street! Yes, he was enormously excited at the Frieze Art Fair. Or he turns the tables. How could Ruth have driven to the Dordogne without stopping off to see the tapestries at Angers? Or from Rome to Naples and miss the amazing murals in the crypt of the cathedral at Anagni?

As with art, so with women. Ruth tells Jomier that he is sure to like Judith. Jomier has heard this before and has never known Ruth’s predictions fulfilled. By ‘like’ Ruth does not mean a temperamental affinity; she means sexual desire. Jomier recognises that some women in late-middle age are more intelligent than others, some more amusing than others, some more elegant than others, but as a genus they are unlikely to inspire desire. Nature dictates that men will be attracted only to pre-menopausal women. In Africa, Arabia or the Mediterranean littoral, older women shroud themselves in black. Even younger women, once they are married, wear veils and shawls and loose-fitting garments to cover their bodies which, if they remain delectable, are for the delectation of their husbands alone. If, after giving birth to children, they are no longer delectable they are best hidden from public view, leaving their menfolk free to play backgammon, puff at hookahs and sip sweet mint tea.

Not so the women of the West. They eschew such primitive customs. They wear décolleté dresses and spend billions of pounds on elixirs and unguents to retard or reverse the depredations of nature. Wax strips off the unwanted hairs and tights flatten ripples of cellulite and veil scaly skin. Bright-coloured skirts and tops distract the eye from the wrinkled flesh and bleary eyes. Artful coiffeurs and coiffeuses wash and dye and tint and streak what is left of a once glorious head of hair. And what does Western man do but play the game – pretend to notice and admire and chatter and flirt; pretend to respond to the fluttering of eyelashes, heavy with caked mascara; pretend to be open to possibilities when he would rather be chatting up their daughters or be back at home watching TV.