When he did come into the tea room a few minutes after nine, and saw her sitting alone, he went over to her immediately and put his arm around her, and it might be expected that he would stay there. That’s what Birdie hoped. But on the other hand there were no other men yet in the room. And Birdie could well understand his dilemma. He didn’t want to leave her there on her own. But neither could he just sit like a pharaoh in a milk tub of virgins. It would look stupid. It wasn’t time for the men to come in yet. There were too many frocks and not enough suits.

So he asked her would she mind if he was just another little minute in the bar because one of the young boys from the college was very interested in doing veterinary science at university, and Alex felt obliged to offer him extended advice on the matter. And Birdie said, of course. But she was nervous. He must have seen that. She was in pain. Sitting there alone, with her white, feathery little cap and not a single bitch with the decency to bid her the time of day as they fluttered around their flans and meringues.

Alex marched out again and Birdie could see the ladies nodding knowingly to each other as if to say, yes, there he goes, we won’t be seeing him again until two in the morning.

But they got it wrong. The fucken bitches. They got it wrong.

The top brass had kept themselves cheerful from about seven until ten, by dressing and redressing the tables. Hiding apple tarts and whipping cream. Then they set out the prizes for the prize-giving. That moved things on a bit. The silver cups. The cut-glass goblets. The bone china. By ten o’clock there were trays of alcohol floating discreetly through the hatch between the bar and the tea room with alarming speed. Their nerves were frayed. It was the moment of truth when the herd came from the bar. Every woman prayed that her man would be present and correct. Not pissed or missing.

The first surprise was a tray of gin and tonics for Betty and her mates. It floated down the hall in the hands of a good-looking lanky boy with long black hair, who said he was Doctor Bradley’s son. That got the ladies swooning. The boy said the drinks were with the compliments of the Vet. Score one.

Then the bell tinkled for the speeches and the gentlemen appeared, red-eyed, good-humoured, and bristling for the prize-giving. Alex was the first in the door. He sat beside Birdie and put his arm around her again, in what the top brass considered to be an unnecessary gesture of intimacy.

Though it was no surprise to anyone when it was announced that Alex had hit the best score of the day and was asked to step forward to receive the Captain’s Prize.

He said a few words about being no good at golf, but he supposed that there were no prizes for the things he was good at. Ladies put their hands to their mouths in measured displays of shock, while the men at the back cheered and everyone declared that truly the best man had won.