‘Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve just discovered that I like them. I thought,’ said Dikon, smiling a little in spite of himself, ‘that the tableau on the verandah was terribly sad. I wonder how long they’d been grouped up like that.’

‘For ages, I should think. The dog was plainly exasperated and young Claire looked lethal.’

‘It is rather touching,’ said Dikon and turned away.

Mrs Claire and Barbara, wearing their garden hats and carrying trowels, went past the window on tiptoe, their faces solemn and absorbed. When they had gone a little way Dikon heard them whispering together.

‘In heaven’s name,’ cried Gaunt, ‘why do they stalk about their own premises like that? What are they plotting?’

‘It’s because I explained that you liked to relax before dinner. They don’t want to disturb you. I fancy their vegetable garden is round the corner.’

After a pause Gaunt said: ‘It will end in my feeling insecure and ashamed. Nothing arouses one’s self-abasement more than the earnest amateur. How long have they had this place?’

‘About twelve years, I think. Perhaps longer.’

‘Twelve years and they are still amateurs!’

‘They try so terribly hard,’ Dikon said. He wandered out on to the verandah. Someone was walking slowly round the warm lake towards the springs.

‘Hullo,’ Dikon said. ‘We’ve a caller.’

‘What do you mean? Be very careful, now. I’ll see no one, remember.’

‘I don’t think it’s for us, sir,’ Dikon said. ‘It’s a Maori.’

It was Rua. He wore the suit he bought in 1936 to welcome the Duke of Gloucester. He walked slowly across the pumice to the house, tapped twice with his stick on the central verandah post and waited tranquilly for someone to take notice of him. Presently Huia came out and gave a suppressed giggle on seeing her great-grandfather. He addressed her in Maori with an air of austerity and she went back into the house. Rua sat on the edge of the verandah and rested his chin on his stick.

‘Do you know, sir,’ said Dikon, ‘I believe it might be for us, after all? I’ve recognized the old gentleman.’

‘I won’t see anybody,’ said Gaunt. ‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a Maori version of the Last of the Barons. Rua Te Kahu, sometime journalist and MP for the district. I’ll swear he’s called to pay his respects.’

‘You must see him for me. We did bring some pictures, I suppose?’

‘I don’t think,’ Dikon said, ‘that the Last of the Barons will be waiting for signed photographs.’

‘You’re determined to snub me,’ said Gaunt amiably. ‘If it’s an interview, you’ll talk to him, won’t you?’

Colonel Claire came out of the house, shook hands with Rua and led him off in the direction of their own quarters.

‘It’s not for us after all, sir.’