And come to that, what should I wear for coffee with Het? I mean, I knew she was a friend of Jackie’s, who is from an old family even if she is an ageing hippie with no money, but I didn’t move in the same social circles unless they happened to be circling one of Jackie’s many bashes where anything goes, and usually did …

Het lived in a decaying pile of bricks outside the town and bred peculiar little dogs called Wiener Schnitzels or something, and I’d only ever seen her in a waxed drover’s coat down to her wellies looking like an escaped tarpaulin, except for the aforementioned parties and the Festival, when she was firmly upholstered in shiny black with sensible court shoes and Royal Stuart tartan stockings.

I don’t do tartan – or shiny, come to that – so unflattering.

A phone call from Linny, who had to leave the house and use her mobile, since Tershie was insisting she rest all the time and eat good food, and although she had no objection to lying about in bed eating chocolates, she didn’t want to do it during valuable shopping time.

Luckily he was off on a business trip the following day so she could resume normal life, and she hoped he’d have calmed down a bit by the time he returned.

When I asked Linny how she felt she said she just couldn’t believe it was true, like not believing that men really had landed on the moon, because it all seemed so unlikely, but actually all she felt was fed up and a bit hormonal.

She wanted me to go round next day but I told her I had too much to do – which I had – but promised to pop in after seeing Sergei on Monday. ‘And I sincerely hope he looks less grotesque because his face looked terrible the other night,’ I added. ‘Frozen as well as battered and bruised.’

‘That’s Botox,’ she said knowledgeably. ‘They must have overdone it, which is a pity because he normally has a very mobile face, hasn’t he? It takes months to wear off – and he’s had a facelift too, I could tell.’

‘Well, I wish he hadn’t. I loved him just the way he was, and now I don’t know how I feel, and until he looks more like his old self I’m not going to even consider forgiving him for the incident … and I run a manuscript assessment service, for God’s sake, so he might at least have told me he was writing his autobiography and asked me for help! Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Linny – I broke into his flat and looked at his memoirs.’

‘You did?’ she gasped. ‘Tina! But did he – what did he say – you know …? Did he name names?’