‘Well, he sort of is,’ I amended. ‘I critiqued his novel and now he’s got this crush on me and wants to meet me, though I’ve told him absolutely not.’

‘So you haven’t encouraged this man?’

‘Of course I haven’t, you imbecile,’ I snapped, and added that not only had I not encouraged him, I’d positively discouraged him once I saw which way the wind was blowing, and it was all very tedious, but we would ignore him.

And then to distract Sergei, I made him his favourite kind of tea and crisp buttered toast with Gentleman’s Relish, which he loved despite being no gentleman, and I let him moan on and on about his allergy to ozone and his general health and the harmful effect lack of sex and sympathy from me was having on it, and how there were plenty more fish in the sea, so if I didn’t love him any more, I only had to say.

I said of course I did, and I thought the Botox had worn off a little bit. But honestly, when he went all whingy it gave me a real idea of what it would have been like had we married in the first flush of our love for each other, and thank God it never came to that.

As you can imagine, by the time we left for the festival I was ready to enthusiastically embrace the dried-up, embittered and lonely old spinsterhood Linny was always predicting for me if I didn’t play my cards right.

I’d left it a bit too late for Happy Families anyway: Linny may have managed to snatch the last jelly baby out of the bag, but I bet there wasn’t even a bit of powdered sugar at the bottom of mine.

I’d omitted to tell Sergei that, as well as opening the festival, walking around looking beautiful, and then having lunch with the Great, the Good and the Godly, he would also have to judge the Best Lobster class and crown the Lobster Princess. It was bad enough breaking the news that he could drive only as far as the town hall car park and he’d have to walk at least two hundred yards after that in the fresh air. I didn’t want to add any more bombshells and have him waltz off back to London in a huff.

When we went out I expected him to dart for the safety of his car while I locked the cottage door, but instead I heard a scuffle behind me and turned to find him hauling a thickset man with a familiar face out from behind the wall.

‘Neville?’ I said resignedly.

‘He was staring right into the house with binoculars!’ Sergei said. ‘Is this the man who is annoying you, my darling, and sending the messages that insult your honour?’