‘Well, when she was a child she sniffed at a cat and nearly died of it. Came out in the most dreadful red blotches. And when she became famous she put two portraits of Napoleon on her bedroom wall, apparently. No one would have thought she had an authoritarian bone in her body! Well, she’s had an illustrious career and made pots of money – but that was all thanks to her clever impresario, I think. Mr Lark. All Corinne’s ever done is sing. She’s never had to do anything else. What was that cliche that’s always used to describe somebody like Corinne?’

‘She’s led a hothouse kind of existence?’ Payne suggested.

‘Completely out of touch with reality… People say that about the upper classes, don’t they, so tiresome – the Queen never using credit cards and wearing such ludicrous hats -’ Lady Grylls’s hands sketched an improbable shape above her head – ‘but heaven knows it’s performers, actors and singers and suchlike, that are the real oddballs. I mean, who’s more peculiar, tell me quickly – poor old Prince Charles or that very strange boy who can’t make up his mind whether he wants to be black or -’ Lady Grylls broke off. ‘You know the one. He’s had an awful lot of trouble. He denies it all of course.’

‘We know the one,’ Payne said. ‘Well, darling, I’d say both are equally peculiar… So, what’s happening exactly? Corinne’s coming to England in her jet and landing on your croquet lawn -’

‘They wouldn’t be able to find my croquet lawn even if they tried, it’s so terribly overgrown. Gardeners cost the earth. She didn’t mention a jet. She might have one, mind. She’s terribly rich. I wish I were as rich. Her sales in South Korea alone have made her a millionaire twice over – and that was back in 1981, I read somewhere

… She proposes to stay with me, yes. She seems to believe that Chalfont will make a good bolt-hole for her. She’s coming the day after tomorrow, 3rd April.’