I felt a bit offended on my father’s behalf, and said, ‘Actually, he takes it very seriously.’

‘Oh, I bet he does,’ the Englishman said. ‘I bet he’s got the sanctimonious bit down pat. Do you know what that means? “Sanctimonious”?’

I shook my head.

‘It means you think you know better than everyone else. God, and why wouldn’t you? If I’d got a place like this, and a girl like you, hanging on my every word, I’d think the same way. I’d think, look at this precious life, look how amazing she thinks I am! Pour a bit in there, would you? Yes, I want the ice, I don’t care.’

The cork came out of the bottle with a hollow pop. I must have poured too much, because he said, ‘Steady on,’ and reached out to knock the bottle away.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘That’s all right, that’s all right. You’ll do better next time, won’t you?’

He had to tuck his chin into the soft folds of his neck to reach the rim of the glass, and this movement made the folds spread wider, covering the knot in his tie. He put the glass’s rim to his lips and tilted it slowly. I heard the whisky draining through the ice, through his teeth, and the suck of his tongue at work as he rolled it around his mouth. When he swallowed, the liquid trickled down through his complicated chest, and when it reached his belly, it made an angry bubbling sound.

‘Hang on,’ he said, as I began to withdraw. ‘Hang on. I’ve got a question for you. Why don’t you sit? Just for a minute.’

I thought of my mother in the kitchen, cutting the breakfast scones. If she realised I had been upstairs this long, she would collar me in the hall when I came back down and say, Have you got nothing better to do that you’ve got to go bothering people? Do you need a job? But I wasn’t bothering the Englishman, that was the truth, and in fact it seemed like it would bother him more if I left. I sat on the edge of the armchair beside the window. The curtains were not drawn, and I could feel the cold air seeping through the glass and breathing on the back of my head.

‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Have you got any boys you love?’

This startled me. I didn’t know how to answer.

‘Of course you haven’t,’ he said. He took another sip of his whisky. ‘You’re too young for all that nonsense. But it’s coming, isn’t it? It’s coming.’ He gestured at the window. ‘Spring’s coming. You sure there isn’t a boy you’ve got your eye on?’

I frowned. There was a boy, but the Englishman surely couldn’t know it.