‘I thought we would have trouble getting here through the fog,’ Oliver said, after appreciating the wine, ‘but it lifted almost as quickly as it fell. Kerensa kept saying there was something strange in the air, but you have a fine clear spring evening to celebrate your birthday, Martin.’

‘The fog spread across the bay and drifted out to sea in a very short time according to some of the talk I’ve heard tonight. Don’t know why people want to keep on about the weather when there’s more important things like my birthday to celebrate,’ Sir Martin ended grumpily.

‘My humble apologies. Happy birthday, Martin.’ Oliver raised his glass.

‘Damned old I’ve become, damned old, Oliver, my boy,’ Sir Martin sighed, then with a wicked glint in his yellowing eyes, ‘But not too old to appreciate a slender neck and a graceful step, and,’ he emphasised, ‘the flash of wonderful red hair. So tell me why that little wife of yours was taken off like that before my very eyes! Haven’t had my arm round her tiny waist for far too long and that’s a fact!’

Oliver smiled indulgently from his great height. ‘Kerensa was taken up the stairs to join Rachael and Ameline. I fancy that Rachael requires her as part of her grand entrance.’

‘Oh yes,’ Sir Martin bellowed. ‘Rachael and her grand entrances! She insists on carrying them out even if the occasion is not in her honour, as it isn’t tonight. And she’ll make the most of it, you can be sure of that. This is about the only year within the last ten or so she hasn’t been with child. Damn me, boy, it would be a sight indeed to see her fall down those stairs one of these days, all preened up like a hysterical pheasant.’

‘A sight indeed,’ agreed Oliver, turning his dark head and looking up the wide stone stairway.

‘Whose birthday is it anyway?’ Sir Martin said peevishly. ‘I wanted the celebration at my house in Marazion but Rachael badgered William into insisting I hold it here. Henpecked and beaten down, that’s what William is, not like you, Oliver. You’re master of your own house, as I was when my dear Amy was alive. Amy, Kerensa – they’re what real women are all about, they know how to treat a man, keep him content and satisfied in all his needs. Don’t seem to be many men with backbone about these days.’

‘What about young Martin?’ Oliver asked. ‘I hear he’s doing very well for himself in the regiment.’

‘Well, I’ll concede the point in his case, but that’s because he tries to emulate you rather than William. A fine grandson that boy is, a man couldn’t wish for one better, he’s a credit to the family.’