Mr Hoskine mixes Negronis, and I long to be in the heat of Italy suddenly, away from here and now. But looking at the view I can hardly complain about it. I grab a vivid drink and do what I am known for . . . be the most outstanding hostess. As I kiss the powdered cheek of Lady Fox, I see Tom wink at me. A smile spreads across my face. It is his fault of course. All his fault that I was a society hostess, a Foreign Office wife and a mother. He brought Allan here in the first place.

I don’t quite gulp the drink but dispatch it with more haste than is sensible. Tonight, I’m at least partially off-duty. The handover is complete and until I return to Moscow, I’m free to enjoy my break. As the gin makes its way into my system, my shoulders relax. I will have a good time tonight. My husband has shown he still wants me, and I still have a role to play that is more important than tonight’s dinner. This matters to me even though no one else knows.

I grin and Ralf Venn catches my eye. He matches my expression and I taste the bitter kick of the Campari. His white dinner jacket glows in the evening light and the cut of it is perfection. I have not met many Americans who have their suits made in Jermyn Street. But we are not in the Caribbean and although the sun shines today, his choice marks him out. His wife is well dressed, too. Her strapless gown shows off her long limbs and hourglass figure. It is all a bit obvious and so not what appeals to Allan. I’m not sure why I’m concerned. Allan has always been attracted to the elegant and understated.

‘You have no worry there.’ Tom whispers in my ear.

‘Just what I was thinking.’ I sip the last of my drink.

‘I know.’

I look up at him from under my lashes.

He glances down at my empty glass. I wrinkle my nose at him. The man knows me too well, unlike George Russell. He, unlike these other Americans, had the sense not to dress for a cruise ship in Cornwall.

‘Where’s your drink?’ I ask, noticing Tom’s hands in his pockets. ‘Still pacing yourself?’

‘Gin is not my friend.’

I laugh, remembering. ‘True but I see there is whisky on the table.’

‘I’ll save myself for the wine with dinner.’

I cast him a sideways glance. He grins and wanders away to talk to Eddie Carew. Tom is all out of sorts but looks as cool as anything if you didn’t know him. But I did.

‘Joan, what a glorious evening for a party.’ Anthea, who I went to finishing school in Switzerland with, walks over looking glamorous as ever. ‘To think we were stuck inside last year.’