“My pleasure, Giles. Nice to be on the same side for a change.”

Giles laughed. “And this is my nephew, Sebastian Clifton, who works in the City.”

“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” said Sebastian, as he shook hands with the president of the MCC. He looked out onto the magnificent ground, which was quickly filling up in anticipation of the opening salvoes.

“England won the toss and have elected to bat,” said the president.

“Good toss to win,” said Giles.

“And is this your first visit to the home of cricket, Sebastian?”

“No, sir, as a schoolboy I saw my uncle score a century for Oxford on this ground.”

“Not many people have achieved that,” said the president, as two of his other guests entered the box and came across to join them.

Sebastian smiled, although he was no longer looking at the former captain of England.

“And this,” said the president, “is an old friend of mine, Sukhi Ghuman, not a bad spin bowler in his time, and his daughter Priya.”

“Good morning, Mr. Ghuman,” said Giles.

“Do you enjoy cricket, Priya?” Seb asked the young woman, whom he tried not to stare at.

“That’s a rather silly question to ask an Indian woman, Mr. Clifton,” said Priya, “because there wouldn’t be anything to talk to our men about if we didn’t follow cricket. How about you?”

“Uncle Giles played for the MCC, but when bowlers see me, they don’t expect it to be a lasting experience.”

She smiled. “And I heard your uncle say you work in the City.”

“Yes, I’m at Farthings Bank. And you, are you over here on holiday?”

“No,” said Priya. “Like you, I work in the City.”

Sebastian felt embarrassed. “What do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a senior analyst at Hambros.”

Let’s wind back, Seb wanted to say. “How interesting,” he managed, as a bell rang and rescued him.

They both looked out onto the ground to see two men in long white coats striding down the pavilion steps, a signal to the packed crowd that battle was about to commence.

*   *   *

“Mr. Clifton, what a pleasure to see you again,” said the Cabinet Secretary as the two men shook hands.

“What’s the teatime score?” asked Harry.

“England are seventy-one for five. Someone called Bedi is taking us apart.”

“I rather hope they beat us this time,” admitted Harry.

“That’s nothing less than high treason,” said Sir Alan, “but I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it. And by the way, congratulations on the worldwide success of Anatoly Babakov’s book.”

“You played your own role in making that possible, Sir Alan.”

“A minor role. After all, cabinet secretaries are not meant to appear on the stage, but be satisfied with prompting others from the wings. Can I get you a tea or coffee?”