When we had finished applauding we were invited to have a glass of wine and have books signed by the historians. I would have waited in my seat but the man next to me had stood up and was looming, so I stood up and loomed over the woman to my left, who did the same, and we all queued on our feet to be among the first out, as though we were very keen to escape or be first to meet the historians. I turned to Emily again. She was looking past me, to the front of the room, where I turned to see that Andrew’s mistress had approached him and put her hand on his arm. She was speaking quickly and touching her hair with one hand, and he nodded then looked up to the back of the room to see Emily looking back at him. He smiled. I turned back to look at Emily. She was looking at me now. I put an imaginary glass to my lips. She nodded and got up, and we met in the aisle, awkwardly, not knowing if we should shake hands or kiss, doing neither.

‘What did you think?’ she said. ‘That’s, er, Andrew, did you know he was my…?’

‘Uncle. Yes.’

‘Boyfriend.’

‘Yes, I knew.’

‘“Boyfriend” is too childish a word, isn’t it? “Partner” is such a legalistic word. We need something in the middle.’

‘Fucktoy.’

‘That’s not it. Anyway, that was my man on stage, holding forth.’

‘You sound like Tammy Wynette now.’

‘I give up. That was my Andrew.’

‘Holding back the tide of nationalism.’

‘Doing his best. I didn’t have this down as your scene.’

‘I was dragged along by a colleague.’

‘It’s not really my vibe either. Perfectly engaging though, I thought.’

‘Perfectly. Very educational. Like live Radio 4. Here, what colour do you want?’

‘Red.’

I passed her a glass and looked down at the floor. I had never seen her in shoes before, and so I was momentarily fascinated by those she chose to wear, the black patent-leather heels with a delicate strap to fasten across the light-brown nylon that covered her feet.

‘Thanks for sending the magazine, by the way,’ she said. ‘Sorry I didn’t get back. Andrew tells me the interview was good, so thanks for that.’

‘It’s a pleasure.’

‘I didn’t read it myself, I’m sorry to say.’

‘No?’

‘Too embarrassed to. I can’t imagine what stupid things I said.’

‘You weren’t stupid.’

‘Our opinions might differ about that.’

‘Are you saying we have different standards of intelligence?’

‘No!’

‘Liar.’

‘Well, we probably do,’ she said, ‘but that’s not what I meant.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I didn’t mean mine were superior.’

‘Just different.’

‘You probably have a much more intelligent idea of how to live and be happy than I do.’

‘Do you think? Christ, how miserable are you?’