This final utterance was pronounced with a theatrical flourish of the hand. Lord Soulford was one of those who was driven by danger on to the high ground of self-dramatization. The hamminess of his delivery created a jarring contrast with the pain I saw in Francis’s eyes. I looked at his father with loathing. It was liberating to feel it on someone else’s behalf; I felt none of the mollifying influence of conscience. It was my first taste of adult hatred, and I relished it. I abandoned myself to hating him.

Without speaking people began to arrange themselves in a stately declaration of alliances. Lisa and Jessica stood on either side of Francis, and each of them took one of his hands. The quiet pride of the two women in their evening dresses was a more potent reproach to Lord Soulford than any words could have been. I was standing behind the trio, the four of us facing him. The table was between us, and together with the bronze and gilt fixtures of the room it gave the occasion a feeling of political weight, as if we were at some emergency conference, and it was breaking up in disarray. Jeremy hovered in the middle, clearly uncomfortable with his father’s behaviour but lacking the imagination to face him down. Michael, who had been silent for some time, came over to me, and whispered, ‘Look, why don’t you take him home, he’s clearly out of his skull. Nothing can be resolved tonight. I’ll see if I can calm the old man down.’ And with that he walked over to Lord Soulford, and put his hand on his shoulder, a gesture of frank and manly solidarity. ‘Come on, old boy,’ he said to him. ‘Let’s get you out of here before the press get a whiff.’

The mention of the press jerked Francis’s father out of his performance, and he looked around him quickly as if he had just woken up. ‘Quite right, absolutely right,’ he said. ‘Now, the rest of you, go and put him to bed, and get a steak on that eye. And not a word of this to anyone, do you understand, or I’ll set my lawyers on the lot of you. You can take the back stairs.’

Michael indicated to Jeremy that he should open the door. He received the order gratefully and ran over to the end of the room to hold it open. The sound of the dinner party briefly swelled again, and candlelight fell in through the space. Michael turned his back on us and guided his patron out of the room. Jeremy closed the door behind the three of them, and his last look back at Francis was one of abject shame. The handle clicked as the door shut.

The four of us stood still. The moment one of us moved, we would all have to admit the reality of what had just happened. Then Jessica turned to Francis. I was afraid she was going to reproach him, to shout at him for losing his money, our money. She was dressed in expensive clothes and jewellery she had not bought herself. But she cupped the back of his skull in the palm of her hand and kissed him on the forehead. A look of blissful relief spread over his face.