“It’s the other feller you ought to be looking for,” she said to him kindly. “Dickie was just being Dickie! You don’t say anything disrespectful to him and get away with it, whoever you are. He’s got a temper on him, but he’s a bit of a slow burner. If he attacks you, you’ve deserved it and then some!” She looked over her shoulder before continuing. “Aunty had it coming to him! Shhh, I never said that! He was smarming all over this customer in the straw boater. Flash the cash and you’ve got Aunty’s attention! A visitor, not a regular. He was with a lady, his wife, and she was very well dressed with some good jewellery. Loaded, the pair of them! And very nice manners they had. Dickie came into the café—which he’s never done before, so it must have been urgent. He was obviously keen to say something to Mr. Boater. But Aunty wasn’t having it. A tramp in his select establishment? Never! Aunty said something like, ‘Do excuse me while I eject this trash.’ Charming! And then he tried to physically remove him. Once outside they could let rip, and they resorted to, er, language. Upshot was Dickie bashed him one in the stomach. Winded him. Aunty made us ring for an ambulance and had himself taken off to Addenbrooke’s to make sure nothing had been punctured!” Alice had to break off to control her laughter. “He’s been off sick since then.” She chortled.

“Did the customer in the boater and Dickie ever get around to exchanging words?”

“No. Not as I saw. I don’t think the customer wanted to acknowledge him. He seemed startled and embarrassed. Look, if we’re going to go on talking about them, why don’t we use the gentleman’s correct name?”

“Good grief! You know it? But how . . .”

“It was quite entertaining how it happened. After Dickie had finished dancing about for the crowd and baiting the college bloke who stuck an oar in, he went off towards King Street. And that’s where it all got a bit strange. There seemed to be something of a tiff breaking out between Mr. Boater and his wife . . . Edith, he called her. She’d ordered toasted tea cakes with her pot of Earl Grey, but he told her to put her coat on, they were leaving. ‘Sod the tea cakes,’ he said, just as the waitress walked up with them, hot from the grill! Bad timing.”

“You’re not kidding!” Thoday could conjure up with ease the buttery cinnamon- and sultana-scented treat and shared Edith’s pain at the thought of it being whisked away from under her nose.