‘Before the war indeed, as you say, sir, and if I may mention, quite a number of landscapes are attributed to Wright of Derby rather than being certified as having been painted by him.’

Anthony Hawke said he quite understood and went back to look at the Wilson. After a few minutes, he asked Ridgeway if he had any George Lamberts.

‘No, sir, but I may be able to find one if you’re interested. You are an admirer of landscapes, I see.’

Anthony Hawke said that indeed he had a weakness for English landscapes, and Ridgeway said yes, but did he have the wallet for them, and chuckled before apologising, but Hawke said no, not at all.

He paused and moved back to the Joseph Wright and decided now was the time. It was a small oration Sir Roland Pearson had very much enjoyed preparing, and he spoke quietly with just the slightest catch of emotion in his voice as he told Ridgeway how English landscapes in particular evoked for him the true essence of England, of a country and a time fast fading like a watercolour, along with its traditional values and its… morals. He apologised for being sentimental and said he wondered what on earth we’d just wasted the best part of six years fighting a war for when… then hesitated before adding, ‘Can you really call it a victory?’

Ridgeway had moved closer to him, shuffling from foot to foot but remaining silent.

‘I’m terribly sorry; I’m probably speaking out of turn,’ Hawke continued. ‘My wife does warn me to bite my lip, but when one sees what is happening in Europe and one is told by those who are running matters to accept what is going on, one does really question the outcome.’

He coughed and walked over to a portrait of a man in eighteenth-century dress. Ridgeway had dutifully followed.

‘I’m pleased to see you have nothing by the likes of Pissarro.’ He phrased it as a question and looked at Ridgeway for an answer.

Ridgeway shook his head. ‘We make a point of not selling paintings by Jewish artists – nor indeed Soviet ones, not that there are any!’

Sir Roland smiled but didn’t reply: he’d gone as far as he dared. Ridgeway came uncomfortably close and grasped Hawke’s hand in his own, which was bony and slightly moist. He shook it enthusiastically, taking too long to let go.

‘It’s a great honour, Mr Hawke, to meet someone of your standing with whom one so clearly agrees. I too feel that maybe…’ He stopped and looked at the door and then towards the back of the gallery. It was clear that he wanted to be certain they were alone and was unsure whether to continue.

‘You feel what, Ridgeway? I’m sure we can be frank with each other, eh?’

‘There are like-minded people I’m sure you would enjoy meeting: people who view the world in the way you and I do and who endeavour to do something about it.’