But I wasn’t listening any longer.

‘Do look,’ I said. ‘He’s ordering champagne. Do you suppose they’re celebrating?’

‘Can’t be much to celebrate, getting lumbered with a bird that looks like that,’ said Charlie, beckoning the waitress and ordering more whisky.

Charlie is immensely successful, newly rich, young and, like me, rootless. He is not interested in anyone unless they’re likely to advance his career or improve his image. At that time, just as I was getting bored with him, he was beginning to fall in love with me. This irked rather than worried me. I was used to men falling in love with me. When I gave Charlie the push, he would nurse his hurt pride for a fortnight, change the colour of his Ferrari and move on to the next affaire.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the man who was buying champagne for Gussie Forbes. She was raising her glass to him now, and he was holding her hand and smiling at her. He had a beautiful smile, gentle and creasing his face in all the right places. Now he was running a hand down her cheek. It was really most mystifying.

Charlie was rabbiting on about the chic men’s clothes shop he owns, who had been in, how difficult it was to get the right staff. Gussie and her man were getting up to dance. He moved easily, with the grace of some jungle cat. Gussie bounced around, wiggling her arms and her large bottom. She resembled a baby elephant taking a dip in the pool. Charlie took out a gold cigarette case, lit two cigarettes and handed one to me. He is full of these self-consciously sexy gestures which only work if you’re Cary Grant.

Gussie was now writhing and pushing her hair about in utter abandon.

‘They never taught your girlfriend to dance at school,’ Charlie said, watching her in appalled amusement.