Fabian said, ‘Yes. It was painted ten years ago. I don’t need to tell you it’s by a determined Academician. Rather a pity, really. John would have made something terrific out of Flossie. Or, better still, Agatha Troy.’

Alleyn, who was married to Agatha Troy, said, ‘I only saw Mrs Rubrick for a few minutes. Is it a good likeness?’

Fabian and Ursula Harme said, ‘No.’ Douglas Grace and Terence Lynne said, ‘Yes.’

‘Hallo!’ said Alleyn. ‘A divergence of opinion?’

‘It doesn’t give you any idea of how tiny she was,’ said Douglas Grace, ‘but I’d call it a speaking likeness.’

‘Oh, it’s a conscientious map of her face,’ said Fabian.

‘It’s a caricature,’ cried Ursula Harme. Her eyes were fixed indignantly on the portrait.

‘I should have called it an unblushing understatement,’ said Fabian. He was standing before the fire, his hands on the mantelpiece. Ursula Harme turned to look at him, knitting her brows. Alleyn heard her sigh as if Fabian had wakened some old controversy between them.

‘And there’s no vitality in it, Fabian,’ she said anxiously. ‘You must admit that. I mean she was a much more splendid person than that. So marvellously alive.’ She caught her breath at the unhappy phrase. ‘She made you feel like that about her,’ she added. ‘The portrait gives you nothing of it.’

‘I don’t pretend to know anything about painting,’ said Douglas Grace, ‘but I do know what I like.’

‘Would you believe it?’ Fabian murmured under his breath. He said aloud, ‘Is it so great a merit, Ursy, to be marvellously alive? I find unbounded vitality very unnerving.’

‘Not if it’s directed into suitable channels,’ pronounced Grace.

‘But hers was. Look what she did!’ said Ursula.

‘She was extraordinarily public-spirited, you know,’ Grace agreed. ‘I must say I took my hat off to her for that. She had a man’s grasp of things.’ He squared his shoulders and took a cigar case out of his pocket. ‘Not that I admire managing women,’ he said, sitting down by Miss Lynne. ‘But Auntie Floss was a bit of a marvel. You’ve got to hand it to her, you know.’

‘Apart from her work as an MP?’ Alleyn suggested.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Ursula, still watching Fabian Losse. ‘I don’t know why we’re talking about her, Fabian, unless it’s for Mr Alleyn’s information.’

‘You may say it is,’ said Fabian.

‘Then I think he ought to know what a splendid sort of person she was.’

Fabian did an unexpected thing. He reached out his long arm and touched her lightly on the cheek. ‘Go ahead, Ursy,’ he said gently. ‘I’m all for it.’

‘Yes,’ she cried out, ‘but you don’t believe.’

‘Never mind. Tell Mr Alleyn.’