‘Going good,’ said Simon.

Dr Ackrington instantly turned on him. ‘Is there any creditable reason why you should not say “going well”?’ he demanded.

‘Huh!’ said Simon.

He trailed behind them into the dining-room and they took their places at a long table where Colonel Claire was already seated.

‘We won’t wait for your mother,’ said Colonel Claire, folding his hands over his abdomen. ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful. Huia!’

Huia came in wearing cap, crackling apron and stiff curls. She looked like a Polynesian goddess who had assumed, on a whim, some barbaric disguise.

‘Would you like cold ham, cold mutton, or grilled steak?’ she asked, and her voice was as cool and deep as her native forests. As an afterthought she handed Barbara a menu.

‘If I ask for steak,’ said Dr Ackrington, ‘will it be cooked…’

‘You don’t want to eat raw steak, Uncle, do you?’ said Barbara.

‘Let me finish. If I order steak, will it be cooked or tanned? Will it resemble steak or biltong?’

‘Steak,’ said Huia, musically.

‘Is it cooked?’

‘Yes.’

Thank you. I shall have ham.’

‘What the devil are you driving at, James?’ asked Colonel Claire, irritably. ‘You talk in riddles. What do you want?’

‘I want grilled steak. If it is already cooked it will not be grilled steak. It will be boot leather. You can’t get a bit of grilled steak in the length and breadth of this country.’

Huia looked politely and inquiringly at Barbara.

‘Grill Dr Ackrington a fresh piece of steak, please, Huia.’

Dr Ackrington shook his finger at Huia. ‘Five minutes,’ he shouted. ‘Five minutes! A second longer and it’s uneatable. Mind that!’ Huia smiled. ‘And while she’s cooking it I have a letter to read to you,’ he added importantly.

Mrs Claire came in. She looked as if she had just returned from a round of charitable visits in an English village. The Claires ordered their lunches and Dr Ackrington took out the letter from Dr Forster.

‘This concerns all of you,’ he announced.

‘Where’s Smith?’ demanded Colonel Claire suddenly, opening his eyes very wide. His wife and children looked vaguely round the room. ‘Did anyone call him?’ asked Mrs Claire.

‘Don’t mind Smith, now,’ said Dr Ackrington. ‘He’s not here and he won’t be here. I passed him in Harpoon. He was turning in at a pub and by the look of him it was not the first by two or three. Don’t mind him. He’s better away.’

‘He got a cheque from home yesterday,’ said Simon, in his strong New Zealand dialect. ‘Boy, oh boy!’

‘Don’t speak like that, dear,’ said his mother. ‘Poor Mr Smith, it’s such a shame. He’s a dear fellow at bottom.’

‘Will you allow me to read this letter, or will you not?’

‘Do read it, dear. Is it from home?’