Last year I wore a navy strapless gown with my cousin’s aquamarine eternity brooch on a choker. This year I plan to wear a sea-coloured silk gown with an empire waist and a bow just under the bust like the one I’d seen on a photo of the U.S. president’s wife. It is a favourite and I always have a wonderful evening when I wear it. It will give me confidence like a suit of armour. I’m on edge and feeling uncertain and it isn’t just because of the ruined seating plan. Allan’s restlessness, Tom’s unease and George Russell arriving are all playing havoc with my calm.

Mrs Hoskine hums along with the wireless. Last night she did a superb job with the adapted bouillabaisse. I flip to my recipes. Between the two of us, over the years we have altered it to Cornish fish and English tastes. When she’s not looking, I add my secret supply of dry chilli flakes given to me by the Italian ambassador’s wife. Despite her collection of Robert Carrier’s recipe cards from The Times, she looks on most spice with reluctance. She will not have foreign flavours ruining good Cornish fish. It tastes best simple, she says. I can’t argue but I can’t serve steamed fish to my guests for dinner either. We had planned to have a relaxed dinner last night, barbecuing, however the weather had other ideas.

Looking back down at the seating plan that had worked perfectly, I say, ‘Allan has invited the Venns to join us for dinner tonight.’ I pick up a pencil and pull a clean sheet from the back of the ring-binder.

‘Two more to feed.’ She puts all the tomatoes on the table. The aroma is earthy and my mouth waters. I long for fresh bread, salted butter and sliced tomato.