‘What the fuck else is there to do?’ muttered Patrick, turning on the taps of his bath and tearing open one of the sachets with his teeth. As he poured the glutinous green liquid into the swirling water he heard, or thought he heard, the ringing of the telephone. Was it the management warning him that the police were on their way up? Whoever it was, the outside world was crashing into his atmosphere, and it filled him with dread. He turned off the taps and listened to the naked ringing of the phone. Why answer? And yet he couldn’t bear not to; maybe he was going to be saved.

Sitting on the loo seat, not trusting his own voice, Patrick picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Patrick, my dear,’ drawled a voice from the other end.

‘George!’

‘Is this a bad time to call?’

‘Not at all.’

‘I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me. It may be the last thing you want to do, of course. You must be feeling perfectly ghastly. It’s a terrible shock, you know, Patrick, we all feel that.’

‘I do feel a bit wonky, but I’d love to have lunch.’

‘I must warn you, I’ve asked some other people. Charming people, naturally, the nicest sort of Americans. One or two of them have met your father and liked him very much.’

‘It sounds perfect,’ said Patrick, raising his eyes to the ceiling and grimacing.

‘I’m meeting them at the Key Club. Do you know it?’

‘No.’

‘I think you’ll find it amusing in its way. One comes in from the noise and the pollution of New York, and it’s quite suddenly like an English country house of a certain sort. God knows whose family they are – I suppose some of the members must have lent them – but the walls are covered in portraits, and the effect is really quite charming. There are all the usual things one would expect to find, like Gentleman’s Relish for instance, and strangely enough some things that are nowadays very hard to find in England, like a good Bullshot. Your father and I agreed that we hadn’t had such a good Bullshot in years.’

‘It sounds heaven.’

‘I’ve asked Ballantine Morgan. I don’t know if you’ve met him. I’m afraid I’m not sure he isn’t the most frightful bore, but Sarah has taken to him in a big way and one gets so used to his popping up everywhere that I’ve asked him to lunch. Oddly enough, I knew someone called Morgan Ballantine once, perfectly charming man; they must be related in some way, but I’ve never really got to the bottom of it,’ said George wistfully.

‘Perhaps we’ll find out today,’ said Patrick.