‘Ah,’ said Mr Nark, shaking his head. Norman Cubitt looked over the top of his tankard and raised his eyebrows. Legge moved into the ingle-nook where Miss Darragh sat knitting.

‘What’ll you take, Mr Parish?’ asked Abel.

‘A Treble Extra. I need it. Hallo, Norman, old man,’ said Parish with a sort of brave gaiety. ‘How’s the work going?’

‘Nicely, thank you, Seb.’ Cubitt glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past seven. ‘I’m thinking of starting a big canvas,’ he said.

‘Are you? What subject?’

‘Decima,’ said Cubitt. He put his tankard down on the bar. ‘She has very kindly said she’ll sit for me.’

‘How’ll you paint her?’ asked Parish.

‘I thought on the downs by Cary Edge. She’s got a red sweater thing. It’ll be life size. Full length.’

‘Ah, now,’ exclaimed Miss Darragh from the ingle-nook, ‘you’ve taken my advice in the latter end. Haven’t I been at you, now, ever since I got here to take Miss Moore for your subject? I’ve never seen a better. Sure the picture’ll be your masterpiece for she’s a lovely young creature.’

‘But, my dear chap,’ objected Parish, ‘we’re off in a day or two. You’ll never finish it.’

‘I was going to break it gently to you, Seb. If you don’t object I think I’ll stay on for a bit.’

Parish looked slightly hurt.

‘That’s just as you like, of course,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me to stay. The place is too full of memories.’

‘Besides,’ said Cubitt dryly, ‘you start rehearsals on today week, don’t you?’

‘As a matter of fact I do.’ Parish raised his arms and then let them fall limply to his sides. ‘Work!’ he said. ‘Back to the old grind. Ah well!’ And he added with an air of martyrdom, ‘I can go back by train.’

‘I’ll drive you into Illington, of course.’

‘Thank you, old boy. Yes, I’d better get back to the treadmill.’

‘Keep a stiff upper lip, Seb,’ said Cubitt with a grin.

The door opened and Alleyn came in. He wore a dinner jacket and stiff shirt. Someone once said of him that he looked like a cross between a grandee and a monk. In evening clothes the grandee predominated. Parish gave him a quick appraising glance, Mr Nark goggled, and Miss Darragh looked up with a smile. Cubitt rumpled his hair and said: ‘Hallo! Here comes the county!’

Mr Legge shrank back into the ingle-nook. Upon all of them a kind of weariness descended. They seemed to melt away from him and towards each other. Alleyn asked for two glasses of the special sherry and told Abel that he and Fox would be out till latish.

‘May we have a key, Mr Pomeroy?’