‘Forthright little thing, isn’t she?’ said Hilary.

‘Well, it matters, you see. Because this is how reputations get inflated and mediocre work gets promoted, and then even when a good painter does manage to slip through the net you’ve already pushed the prices up so high that the smaller galleries can’t afford to buy them and it all ends up going into private collections. So what you’re doing, in effect, is robbing the country of its own culture. It’s as simple as that.’ She sipped her wine, somewhat abashed.

‘I wonder how long she’s been working on that little speech?’ Hilary asked.

‘Well, it’s a point of view,’ said Roddy, ‘and she’s entitled to it.’ He turned to Conrad, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. ‘What do you make of all this?’

‘I don’t know much about art.’

‘Have another drink, dear,’ said Hilary, refilling his glass. ‘You’re doing just fine.’

‘I’m not trying to start an argument, or anything,’ said Phoebe, who was growing more wary of Hilary by the minute, ‘but I always had the impression that you agreed with me on this. I thought you dismissed the whole business of collecting modern art as so much snobbery.’

Hilary’s eyes widened, and for several seconds she didn’t answer. Her left hand groped towards a bowl of fruit between the two silver candelabra, and she broke off a small cluster of grapes, one of which she then began to peel slowly, sliding her long fingernail between the skin and the purple flesh.

‘Have we met before?’ she asked suddenly.

‘No,’ said Phoebe. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’

‘I’d just like to know,’ she said, finishing one grape and starting on another, ‘what makes you think you have any kind of insight into my personal opinions.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Roddy, keeping a close watch on his sister’s fingers. ‘Why don’t we all go into the smoking room and make ourselves comfortable, if we’re going to chat away like this?’

‘I’m only going by what I read in your column once,’ said Phoebe. ‘I remember when somebody – some businessman or other – had just paid hundreds and thousands of pounds for a Rothko to go in his private collection, and you went on about what a waste of money it was and how it could all have gone into building schools and hospitals.’

There was a pause, before Hilary said, ‘She really does come out with the most remarkable things,’ in a slightly strangled voice. Then, turning back to Phoebe: ‘It’s only a bit of junk for the newspapers, you know. I don’t write it on tablets of stone. Besides, that column has literally millions of readers. You don’t think I’d share my beliefs – anything that was actually mine – with all those people, do you?’

‘I thought that was the whole point.’

‘There’s this thing called the real world,’ said Hilary. ‘Have you heard of it?’ She didn’t wait for the answer. ‘You see, we can’t all decide that we want to be artists, sitting up in some lofty enclosure, knocking off the occasional painting whenever the fancy takes us. Some of us have to work to order, and meet deadlines, and little, unimportant things like that. Perhaps what you really need is a lesson in how it feels to be stuck in front of a keyboard with five hundred words to write and the subs expecting it in thirty minutes.’

‘I don’t paint for a living,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’m a health visitor. Ask anyone who works in my profession and you’ll find that they know all about pressure.’

‘I’ll give you an example of pressure.’ Hilary was on to her fourth grape by now. ‘Pressure is being holed up in some hotel in the middle of Kent with three colleagues and a fax machine, knowing that you’ve got to put together an autumn schedule by Thursday morning.’

‘Possibly,’ said Phoebe. ‘But you might just as well say that pressure is having twenty pounds in your purse and wondering how you’re going to make it last until the end of the week. Or finding that you’re pregnant again two days after your husband has lost his job. That’s the sort of problem I come across most days, and these people don’t even have the consolation of feeling that the decisions they have to make are in any way glamorous, or make any kind of difference to people’s lives other than their own.’

A smile spread itself across Hilary’s face, and she turned to her brother. ‘Oh, darling, she’s priceless. I really must congratulate you. How did you find her? You realize what you’ve got here, don’t you? I do believe you’ve managed to track down a bona fide, old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool, head-in-the-cloudssocialist. They’re terribly rare, you know. And now, clever old you, you’ve managed to catch this creature and transport her all the way up here. I mean, whatever next? Are you hoping that she’ll mate in captivity?’

Roddy jumped to his feet.

‘All right, Hilary: that’s enough. Just leave her alone.’

‘It’s a bit late to come over all chivalrous, isn’t it?’

‘You’re being offensive.’

‘She won’t go to bed with you, you know. I would have thought that was pretty obvious.’

Roddy turned to their guests. ‘I must apologize for my sister. She’s clearly had a very hard week. All the same, that doesn’t excuse her manners. I think you’ll agree they’ve been appalling.’

‘I don’t know much about manners,’ said Conrad.

Hilary put her arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Conrad doesn’t know much about anything,’ she said, ‘except for flying, and fucking.’ She got up, and, taking his hand, pulled him gently with her. ‘I think it’s about time I put his second area of expertise to the test. Good-night to you both.’ And to Phoebe she added: ‘It’s been an education, my dear. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

Once they had left, Roddy and Phoebe sat in silence for some time.

‘That was nice of you,’ she said finally. ‘Thanks.’

He glanced at her: perhaps on the look-out for irony.

‘Pardon?’

‘Sticking up for me. You didn’t have to do that.’

‘Well, you know … She was way out of line.’

‘She doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of your motives for bringing me here.’

Roddy gave an apologetic shrug, and said: ‘Perhaps she’s right.’

‘So what’s the deal?’

‘The deal?’

‘I sleep with you, and I get – what? A mixed show? A show of my own? Written about in the newspapers? Introduced to lots of wealthy and influential people?’

‘I think you’re jumping the gun a bit.’

‘And do we do it just the once, or is this going to be a regular thing?’

Roddy walked over to the fireplace, where the two bars of an electric fire were doing their feeble best to make an impact on the room’s deathly chill. He seemed about to embark upon a speech.

‘You’re quite right, of course.’ The words came with some difficulty. ‘Clearly I wanted to sleep with you – I mean, what man in his right mind wouldn’t? – and I knew that the only way I was going to … persuade you, was by offering to help with your career. Which I’m certainly in a position to do. But the thing is’ – he laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair – ‘I mean, it galls me to admit that anything my sister might say could have any influence, but – hearing her ranting on like that, it has made me realize that my assumptions, my presumptions, even, have been decidedly … Well, the whole business suddenly seems dreadfully cheap. And I feel that I owe you an apology. I really am very sorry: for bringing you here under … false pretences.’

‘You must think I’m very innocent,’ said Phoebe, joining him at the fireplace, ‘if you expected me to come up here without suspecting anything.’

‘So why did you come?’

‘Well, that’s a good question. Let me tell you two things.’ She leaned back against the mantelpiece, only occasionally turning to meet his eye. ‘First of all, although I do genuinely believe that you know hardly anything about art, that the power you wield is unhealthy, and that your business practices probably stink to high heaven, I don’t find you totally unattractive.’