‘God, yes. Club policy.’

‘That’s it.’

‘I see no good reason,’ Gantry said, ‘for fiddling about with this conversation. You know the part I told you about in Dicky’s new play? She’s going to read it for me. In the meantime, Monty, my dear, you’re going to look at the piece and then pay a call on the Bonaventure.’ He suddenly displayed the cock-eyed charm for which he was famous. ‘No promises made, no bones broken. Just a certain amount of very kind trouble taken because you know I wouldn’t ask it idly. Come, Monty: do say you will.’

‘I seem,’ Marchant said, ‘to be cornered,’ and it was impossible to tell whether he really minded.

Anelida said: ‘It’s asking altogether too much – please don’t be cornered.’

‘I shall tell you quite brutally if I think you’ve wasted my time.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Ah, Dicky!’ Marchant said. ‘May I inquire if you’re a party to this conspiracy?’

Richard was there again, beside her. ‘Conspiracy?’ he said. ‘I’m up to my neck in it. Why?’

Gantry said: ‘The cloak-and-dagger business is all mine, however. Dicky’s a puppet.’

‘Aren’t we all!’ Marchant said. ‘I need another drink. So, I should suppose, do you.’

Richard had brought them. ‘Anelida,’ he asked, ‘what have they been cooking?’

For the third time, Anelida listened to her own incredible and immediate future.

‘I’ve turned bossy, Richard,’ Gantry said. ‘I’ve gone ahead on my own. This child’s going to take a running jump at reading your wench in Heaven. Monty’s going to have a look at the play and see her Eliza. I tell him he’ll be pleased. Too bad if you think she can’t make it.’ He looked it Anelida and a very pleasant smile broke over his face. He dipped the brim of her hat with a thumb and forefinger. ‘Nice hat,’ he said.

Richard’s hand closed painfully about her arm. ‘Timmy!’ he shouted. ‘You’re a splendid fellow! Timmy!’

‘The author, at least,’ Marchant said dryly, ‘would appear to be pleased.’

‘In that case,’ Gantry proposed, ‘let’s drink to the unknown quantity. To your bright eyes, Miss Potential.’

‘I may as well go down gracefully,’ Marchant said. ‘To your conspiracy, Timmy. In the person of Anelida Lee.’

They had raised their glasses to Anelida when a voice behind them said: ‘I don’t enjoy conspiracies in my own house, Monty, and I’m afraid I’m not mad about what I’ve heard of this one. Do let me in on it, won’t you?’

It was Miss Bellamy.

II