‘Back in the seventies those parties were considered the epitome of glitz and glamour, Provost. Or what in the seventies passed for glitz and glamour. Roderick became known as the Jet Set Monarch. He was always photographed wearing a crown… I believe he was interested in witchcraft as well?’

‘Lord Remnant dabbled in voodoo or hoodoo, m’lady. Apparently he attempted to resurrect the dead.’

‘His idea of a party trick, I suppose. Well, it seems to be the right part of the world for that sort of thing.’

Provost cleared his throat. ‘Lord Remnant and his family were said to be under a curse, m’lady. It has been claimed that he built La Sorcière on top of a piece of West Indian holy ground, which he should never have done.’

‘The curse, yes. It all comes back to me now. Well, I don’t know. It’s true that Remnants have had all sorts of problems. Roderick never had any children. Poor wretched Deirdre became a kleptomaniac following her menopause, then she hanged herself most inexplicably. They say Clarissa has had as many lovers as there are Chinamen in China. I am sure you know all about Clarissa’s lovers, Provost?’

‘I am afraid not, m’lady,’ Provost said after a little pause.

‘The stepson is a drug fiend and he’s got a screw loose. Roderick has now died at the comparatively young age of sixty-eight and the title has passed to his younger brother who is a compulsive scribbler, though he can’t get anything published.’

‘Most distinguished families are said to have a curse. The Sassoons, the Tennants, the Kennedys, the Grimaldis-’

‘Sometimes, Provost, I wonder if a curse is not just a handy way of excusing generations of self-indulgence and general bad behaviour.’

‘Certain members of the Royal Family used to be regular visitors at La Sorcière, but then they suddenly and for no apparent reason stopped going.’