‘Everyone seems to have left,’ she said to Francis. ‘I don’t feel quite ready to go to bed, do you? We need to get some ice on that face of yours.’

‘There’s too much adrenalin still in my system. I could use a drink,’ Francis agreed.

‘Michael’s got the keys,’ Lisa said. ‘I’ll tell him to get us a bottle.’

They were no longer speaking to me, they were addressing their own affairs, but I was content just to share in the warmth of their conversation. They were more vivid for me, more real than almost anyone else I had ever met.

‘What about you?’ Francis said to me, feeling his swollen eye with his fingers, as if testing a fruit for ripeness. ‘Will you accept a drink in thanks for rescuing Falstaff? You really rescued us all, he would have turned us in in a moment to save himself from being sent down.’

Jessica laughed at this, but quietly and to herself, as if gilding the joke with private experience.

‘I would love a drink,’ I said.

‘Do you drink whisky?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Well, you must start, you really must. Nothing helps when you’ve taken a beating like whisky. There’s some Laphroaig in the store, I’m sure Falstaff’s tab can accommodate a few more rounds.’

We drank together, and I felt bathed in anticipation as I spoke with them. I was filled with the unique sensation of getting what I wanted, and finding it every bit as glamorous as I had imagined. Towards the end of the evening, I found myself talking to Francis. He mentioned that the next day he and Jessica were going hunting, and idly suggested that it would have been lovely if I could have come with them.

‘Oh, I could come,’ I said, pouncing on the suggestion before he could move on, ‘I have no plans for tomorrow. I’ve never done anything like that before. What time are you leaving?’

Francis’s beautiful, swollen face stalled for a moment in mid-expression and a bemused smile parted his split lips. I understood my faux pas immediately. The proper thing to do with such a slight invitation, having landed it, was to toss it back into the conversation and let it slip away. It was a tentative sign of politeness, an acknowledgement of the possibility of future contact, not a practical step towards initiating it. Francis, however, was far too well mannered to register his surprise for more than a moment. His good nature led him to see inexperience in me rather than a conscious attempt to insinuate myself into the event, and I saw him smile inwardly at my eagerness. He leant forwards in his seat, leaving generalities behind as a businesslike tone entered his voice. I was to meet the others at seven o’clock the next morning in Great Court, and the three of us would make our way down to the meet. When I asked what I should bring, he said only myself, and my fabled grace under fire. The compliment drew a blush, before Jessica came over to the two of us and retook her rightful place in his attentions.