‘Of course. That’s delightful. I’d have asked you, only you always used to complain so of being made to go out. You can have Tinkerbell. She’s been going very nicely this season.’

Everyone was suddenly pleased that Sebastian wanted to hunt; it seemed to undo some of the mischief of the evening. Brideshead rang the bell for whisky.

‘Anyone else want any?’

‘Bring me some, too,’ said Sebastian, and, though it was a footman this time and not Wilcox, I saw the same exchange of glance and nod between the servant and Lady Marchmain. Everyone had been warned. The two drinks were brought in, poured out already in the glasses, like ‘doubles’ at a bar, and all our eyes followed the tray, as though we were dogs in a dining-room smelling game.

The good humour engendered by Sebastian’s wish to hunt persisted, however; Brideshead wrote out a note for the stables, and we all went to bed quite cheerfully.

Sebastian got straight to bed; I sat by his fire and smoked a pipe. I said: ‘I rather wish I was coming out with you tomorrow.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘you wouldn’t see much sport. I can tell you exactly what I’m going to do. I shall leave Bridey at the first covert, hack over to the nearest good pub, and spend the entire day quietly soaking in the bar parlour. If they treat me like a dipsomaniac, they can bloody well have a dipsomaniac. I hate hunting, anyway.’

‘Well, I can’t stop you.’

‘You can, as a matter of fact – by not giving me any money. They stopped my banking account, you know, in the summer. It’s been one of my chief difficulties. I pawned my watch and cigarette case to ensure a happy Christmas, so I shall have to come to you tomorrow for my day’s expenses.’

‘I won’t. You know perfectly well I can’t.’

‘Won’t you, Charles? Well, I daresay I shall manage on my own somehow. I’ve got rather clever at that lately – managing on my own. I’ve had to.’

‘Sebastian, what have you and Mr Samgrass been up to?’

‘He told you at dinner – ruins and guides and mules, that’s what Sammy’s been up to. We decided to go our own ways, that’s all. Poor Sammy’s really behaved rather well so far. I hoped he would keep it up, but he seems to have been very indiscreet about my happy Christmas. I suppose he thought if he gave too good an account of me, he might lose his job as keeper.

‘He makes quite a good thing out of it, you know. I don’t mean that he steals. I should think he’s fairly honest about money. He certainly keeps an embarrassing little note-book in which he puts down all the travellers’ cheques he cashes and what he spends it on, for mummy and the lawyer to see. But he wanted to go to all these places, and it’s very convenient for him to have me to take him in comfort, instead of going as dons usually do. The only disadvantage was having to put up with my company, and we soon solved that for him.