The young man nodded.

‘And how do I get in to watch? Shall I be the drawing master?’

‘The visiting staff is all female.’ Colonel Pikeaway looked at him in a considering manner. ‘I think I’ll have to make you a gardener.’

‘A gardener?’

‘Yes. I’m right in thinking you know something about gardening?’

‘Yes, indeed. I ran a column on Your Garden in the Sunday Mail for a year in my younger days.’

‘Tush!’ said Colonel Pikeaway. ‘That’s nothing! I could do a column on gardening myself without knowing a thing about it—just crib from a few luridly illustrated Nurseryman’s catalogues and a Gardening Encyclopedia. I know all the patter. “Why not break away from tradition and sound a really tropical note in your border this year? Lovely Amabellis Gossiporia, and some of the wonderful new Chinese hybrids of Sinensis Maka foolia. Try the rich blushing beauty of a clump of Sinistra Hopaless, not very hardy but they should be all right against a west wall.”’ He broke off and grinned. ‘Nothing to it! The fools buy the things and early frost sets in and kills them and they wish they’d stuck to wallflowers and forget-me-nots! No, my boy, I mean the real stuff. Spit on your hands and use the spade, be well acquainted with the compost heap, mulch diligently, use the Dutch hoe and every other kind of hoe, trench really deep for your sweet peas—and all the rest of the beastly business. Can you do it?’

‘All these things I have done from my youth upwards!’

‘Of course you have. I know your mother. Well, that’s settled.’

‘Is there a job going as a gardener at Meadowbank?’

‘Sure to be,’ said Colonel Pikeaway. ‘Every garden in England is short staffed. I’ll write you some nice testimonials. You’ll see, they’ll simply jump at you. No time to waste, summer term begins on the 29th.’

‘I garden and I keep my eyes open, is that right?’

‘That’s it, and if any oversexed teenagers make passes at you, Heaven help you if you respond. I don’t want you thrown out on your ear too soon.’

He drew a sheet of paper towards him. ‘What do you fancy as a name?’

‘Adam would seem appropriate.’

‘Last name?’

‘How about Eden?’

‘I’m not sure I like the way your mind is running. Adam Goodman will do very nicely. Go and work out your past history with Jenson and then get cracking.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve no more time for you. I don’t want to keep Mr Robinson waiting. He ought to be here by now.’

Adam (to give him his new name) stopped as he was moving to the door.

‘Mr Robinson?’ he asked curiously. ‘Is he coming?’

‘I said so.’ A buzzer went on the desk. ‘There he is now. Always punctual, Mr Robinson.’

‘Tell me,’ said Adam curiously. ‘Who is he really? What’s his real name?’

‘His name,’ said Colonel Pikeaway, ‘is Mr Robinson. That’s all I know, and that’s all anybody knows.’