‘If you’re implying that this even remotely fits me, I’m insulted.’ I undid the blue tasselled belt and pulled a significant quantity of excess fabric more tightly around me before retying it.

‘Of course I don’t think it fits you,’ he beamed. ‘Because I’m a chubster and you, dear Edie, are a sylph.’ He patted his slightly rounded stomach, which was at that moment encased in a red checked shirt. A pair of dark denims, brown brogues and an unzipped, ancient and battered Barbour completed the look.

‘You’re an Adonis,’ I said. ‘And I want to hear all about your trip. Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘Oh no, no, no.’ He shook his head and wagged a forefinger at me. ‘There is no need for a kettle when one has been to Edinburgh.’ He reached into a green plastic bag at his feet and extracted a bottle of Scotch. ‘Can I interest you in a wee dram?’

I wrinkled my nose. ‘Hmmm. Sorry to rain on your…’ I paused and squinted at the bottle, ‘forty-six per cent proof parade, but I might opt instead for a glass of red, if that’s OK,’ I said. ‘Not a huge fan of whisky.’

‘I was aware of that, actually, which is why…’ He smiled, dipping again into the bag and this time taking out a tartan tin. ‘I got you this.’

‘Aw, that’s so kind,’ I said, taking the shortbread and hugging him, despite the lingering whiff of dog slobber on his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re most welcome. Now how about I get us each a drink?’

I took the whisky from him. ‘You go and flop. I’ll fetch the drinks.’

‘And a piece of shortbread each?’

‘And a piece of my shortbread each.’

‘Quite so,’ he nodded. ‘And then we can sit with our feet up on the living room pouffe and update each other regarding the weavings of our tangled webs since last we met.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ I said, turning and walking towards the kitchen. ‘Go and position the pouffe.’

‘There were actually quite a few of the chaps from school there. Batty Bately, Tiddler Salmon and Gracie Fields all turned up,’ said Giles, picking up the bottle of whisky from the piano and pouring himself a second generous measure before returning to sit next to me on the sofa.

I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe that you know grown men called Batty, Tiddler and Gracie. That’s just so disturbing, Giles.’

He looked at me solemnly and held up a hand. ‘Confession: I made up those names solely to offend your left-wing sensibilities.’

I rewarded him with a theatrically heavy sigh and a second shake of the head. ‘But Tubby really was called Tubby, wasn’t he?’ I asked, sipping my wine. ‘He introduced himself to me as Tubby at your party.’