‘Wasn’t; it was once tremendously alive, gay, rather wicked, bursting with life: all sitting under that awful looming Vesuvius, everyone quite unaware. Terribly like this place; strange analogy but I think it fits. It was marvellously jolly and bustling here once. Years ago. Archie and I were the golden beauties, he was wildly handsome, can you believe? The house was crammed with youth. Although some of our friends were just a little older than we were: a fatal mistake. They die off so much sooner. But they were rather exceptional creatures, which made life very particular and invigorating.’ She looked at him with an apologetic smile. ‘Names I fear you may not think were real. Jean Cocteau? Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald? Gerald and Sara Murphy, they lived at Cap d’Antibes and practically invented the Riviera; then Cole Porter who had a rather tiresome wife, and Minerva of course, Etienne de Beaumont and oh! crowds of others. We read and played music, painted, and argued and danced, and drank a very great deal. It was all tremendously fast. I mean hurrying. As if we all knew that it was going to end suddenly and that we had to gobble up every single lovely crumb before they took away the feast. Which of course they did: in 1939, and never brought it back. Nothing was ever the same again.’

She looked across towards the Albertine arch, the still pines shadow-barring the long lawns. ‘Oh! The voices in this garden. The war split us up. Archie marched off to Cairo to be brilliant in the Secret Service, I tore off to England and fitted gas-masks and learned about splints and hot sweet tea for shock and all that – and had the most marvellous time with my Officers. The Americans were so attractive! Those marvellous trousers we used to call “pinks”. Such a terrific time. Bomb parties at the Dorchester with monstrous Emerald Cunard who always collected fascinating people round her …parties all the time and lots and lots of people to invite to them. Of course,’ she traced the outline of her bare foot on the hot stone, ‘many of the people didn’t always come back. Especially the ones in the RAF; it wasn’t all joy. Of course not. But one was young, one seemed to heal then. It’s harder now. And it’s all gone. Archie and I, and beloved Minna; that’s about all of our set who remain.’

She knew she was talking far too much and too fast, but he hadn’t interrupted her, smiling in quiet disbelief almost.

‘Oh, I know you don’t believe me,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s all so improbable now; life then was so different. I’m only telling you all this utter trivia because when you said “Pompeii” I was reminded.’