Veronica turns and smiles. ‘Hello, darling.’ There’s a moment’s pause during which he does his best to put his face into neutral, but it’s too late. She stops chopping. Her nose twitches. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? The Grays and the Askews coming over?’

‘I’m not feeling a hundred per cent,’ he says, feebly.

‘Don’t be such a misery guts. It’s only the neighbours. They’ll all be gone by 10.30. Have a glass of wine and cheer up. I opened a couple of bottles of that burgundy you like,’ she says, gesturing towards the table without turning round. ‘Since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you off your alcohol fast.’

Cullen goes over to the table. There’s nothing he can do or say to get out of the evening without incurring Veronica’s wrath. And he does like the burgundy. As well he might from the price tag. He’s pouring himself a glass when the doorbell buzzes.

‘That’s probably the Askews,’ Veronica says, half turning from the sink. ‘They’re always early. Will you go?’

Oh God, he thinks, he can’t stand the Askews. Hateful pair. He goes out into the hallway and, seeing only one figure silhouetted in the acid-etched glass, immediately senses something wrong. But still he heads towards the trouble. What else can he do? He slides the chain on the door before cracking it open. A man is standing on the doorstep. Six foot four, shaven-headed meat mountain. They are not acquainted though Cullen knows instantly why he is here.

Putting his mouth to the gap in the door, Cullen hisses, ‘Please, don’t make a scandal. My wife is in the house. We’re expecting guests.’

The mountain tries to wedge his huge ham of a foot in the doorway. A pulse starts up in Cullen’s neck. His fingers begin to tingle and he can feel his Adam’s apple making its way up and down his throat like the bead of an abacus. He wants to say you can’t do this, I’m the Dean, but it’s obvious even to him that this is ludicrous. Instead, he slams the door, slides the chain into its keeper.

There’s a pause. Then the bell buzzes again, this time more insistently.

‘Are you getting that, darling?’ shouts Veronica from the kitchen.

Cracking open the door, Cullen growls, ‘I’ll get you the money by the end of the week, OK? Only, we’ll need to meet somewhere neutral. I’m not having you coming round my house again.’

The mountain laughs. He names a pub in Redland. ‘Friday, seven o’clock. Don’t think about not showing.’ He grins at Cullen. ‘I know where you live.’

Cullen shuts the door and leans against it, panting, just as Veronica appears from the kitchen.

‘Are you all right, darling?’