He opened the door wearing something over the top in brocade and fake fur like a Tartar prince, plus a welcoming smile, which vanished when he saw my face. Maybe the cold water and make-up hadn’t been as effective as I’d thought.

‘My darling! What is the matter?’ he exclaimed, but I evaded his embrace and walked past him into the room where I turned to face him.

I managed to keep my cool and said straight out that I’d seen him at it (nearly) on Valentine’s Day and was deeply hurt, but understood if he’d found someone else (or even several someone elses?) and hoped we could part amicably. ‘And I just wish you’d told me, Sergei, because I always thought we were friends as well as lovers,’ I added.

My voice, which had been remarkably steady throughout the dignified little speech I’d prepared, suddenly wobbled all over the place and my chin probably did, too.

Despite being both startled and miffed at being found out, he made a good recovery. ‘But how could you accuse me of such a thing, my Tina? You mistook what was happening. It was my therapist – my back was so bad and—’

‘Oh, pull the other one, it’s got bells on it,’ I snapped, which puzzled him rather, though he definitely took on board the total disbelief bit.

He changed tack and became terribly passionate in his flamboyant way, throwing himself at my feet and crying: ‘It was nothing but a regrettable impulse of the moment, my lovely Tsarina, not the beautiful thing we have between us!’ and much, much more of the same kind of stuff, though he refused to say who the butterfly was except that she was nothing compared with me, his beautiful Tina.

He should have thought of that at the time.

‘It was not important … I barely remember what happened. I had perhaps one glass of good Russian vodka when I got back from the Royal Ballet and—’

That explained a lot. ‘There’s no such thing as good Russian vodka where you are concerned, Sergei,’ I said shortly. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t drink it any more after what happened last time a friend gave you some. And it still doesn’t excuse the fact that you betrayed me.’

‘Never in my heart!’ he protested. ‘See, I kiss your feet in abject apology, I grovel, I plead for your forgiveness and understanding, my Tina …’

I let him go on like this for a bit, since he seemed to be enjoying it, even if I wasn’t, then when he started to run out of steam, I said, ‘Let’s simply carry on as friends for the moment, Sergei, until I can learn to trust you again,’ which I thought was a pretty good line. I wrote it down as soon as he went to stoke up the samovar, and it certainly hedged my bets nicely.