‘That’s right. Business calls. Places to go, people to see.’ Bernie winked and tapped the side of his nose. Nobody really knew what Bernie did for a living, not even Olivia. Bella had once asked her, and her mother had dismissed the question with an airy, ‘No idea, darling, and quite frankly, I’d rather not know.’

‘Miami Beach!’ chortled Justin. ‘The stories I could tell you about that gaff in the eighties. I remember shooting Jerry there with Helmut – Newton, you know …’

‘Jerry Hall?’ asked Mark, and Justin nodded, starting to roll another spliff. ‘What was she like? Always struck me as a game old bird.’

‘Not so old in those days, son, but, yeah, definitely a game bird. Face like an ’orse, mind you, but legs that went on forever. You could see what Mick saw in ’er.’

‘Any other stories?’ asked Andy, taking a swig of his red wine. He did find Bella’s parents entertaining – they were like no one he had encountered in his life before.

‘I imagine most of them involve coke and hookers,’ said Olivia, and they all laughed. As Justin launched into a scandalous anecdote involving Joan Collins, Jacqueline Bisset and a Puerto Rican rent boy, Bella got to her feet to clear the table and make way for home-made summer pudding. Olivia had knocked it up the previous day, using fruit from her garden and two-day-old home-baked white bread.

Bella put the glistening ruby dome in the centre of the table, with a cold jug of double cream, fresh from the village farm. It was the most delicious cream she had ever tasted. Disgustingly, she could drink it by the spoonful – and probably would, if she wasn’t so aware of her increasingly tightening waistband.

‘Wow, that looks amazing,’ said Andy.

‘Do all of you tuck in.’ Olivia beamed. ‘I’ve the perfect little tipple to accompany it, too.’ She floated into the sitting room, where the fully stocked drinks cabinet lived, and returned triumphantly bearing an almost spherical, gold-labelled bottle with some sort of deep purple liquid sloshing around inside it.

‘What on earth’s that, Mum?’ asked Bella, laughing.

‘Chambord. It’s made out of black raspberries and is utterly delicious.’

‘I bet it is. Looks expensive …’

‘Oh, it is, darling, it is. It was originally created for Louis the Fourteenth. But worth it, as I’m sure you’ll agree when you try it.’

It was. And it went like a dream with the summer pudding. The problem was, it tasted so yummy-ly fruity that it was easy to forget that they were, actually, downing neat spirits.

Soon the bottle was empty, and the mood more raucous than ever.

‘I think we need some music,’ said Bella, getting unsteadily to her feet. She really was very pissed now. ‘Anyone got any requests, or can I be DJ?’

‘Oh, you choose, darling, you always do so so beautifully,’ said Olivia, hiccupping slightly.

So Bella plugged her iPhone into its speakers and opened Spotify. Soon, Ella Fitzgerald was crooning classic Cole Porter hits into the kitchen and everybody around the table had a soppy, drunken smile pasted on to his or her face.