‘We are so sorry,’ Pauline began. ‘Leaving you so long. Papa’s only just been told—a little upset. The great day, of course. He will be ready for you in a few minutes, dear Mr Rattisbon. Until then Dessy and I would be so glad if you—we feel we’d like to—’

Troy was already on her way out. They were waiting for her to get out of earshot.

She heard Desdemona’s rich voice: ‘Just a tiny talk, Mr Rattisbon. Just to warn you.’ And Mr Rattisbon suddenly very dry and brittle: ‘If you desire it, certainly.’

‘But,’ thought Troy, plodding along the passage, ‘they won’t get much change out of Mr Rattisbon.’

‘It’s the big scene from a film script,’ thought Troy, looking down the table, ‘and I’m the bit-part lady.’ The analogy was unavoidable. How often had one not seen Sir Aubrey Smith at the head of such a table? Where else but on the screen was such opulence to be found? Where else such a welter of flowers, such sumptuously Edwardian epergnes, or such incredibly appropriate conversation? Never out of a film studio had characters been so well typed. Even the neighbouring squire and the parson, the one lean and monocled, the other rubicund and sleek, who apparently were annual fixtures for the event; even they were carefully selected cameo parts, too like themselves to be credible. And Mr Rattisbon? The absolute in family solicitors. As for the Ancreds themselves, to glance at them or to hear their carefully modulated laughter, their beautifully articulated small-talk, was to realize at once that this was an all-star vehicle. Troy began to make up titles. ‘Homage to Sir Henry.’ ‘The Astonishing Ancreds.’

‘Going quite nicely, so far, don’t you consider?’ said Thomas at her left elbow. She had forgotten Thomas, although he had taken her in. Cedric, on her right hand, had directed at her and at his partner, Desdemona, a number of rather spasmodic and intensely artificial remarks, all of which sounded as if they were designed for the ears of his grandfather. Thomas, presumably, had been silent until now.

‘Very nicely,’ Troy agreed hurriedly.

‘I mean,’ Thomas continued, lowering his voice, ‘you wouldn’t think, if you didn’t know, how terrified everyone is about the Will, would you? Everybody except me, that is, and perhaps Cedric.’

‘Ssh!’ said Troy. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘It’s because we’re putting on the great Family Act, you know. It’s the same on the stage. People that hate each other’s guts make love like angels. You’d be surprised, I dare say. Outsiders think it very queer. Well,’ Thomas continued, laying down his soup-spoon and gazing mildly at her. ‘What, after all, do you think of Ancreton?’

‘I’ve found it absorbing.’