“I saw it as well,” Bill said loudly. “Marvellous stuff. Enjoyed every minute. In fact, I want to see it again. Pat, old thing, would you care to come with me when we’re back down south? My treat.”

“I’d love to,” Pat said. “It sounds precisely my sort of thing.” She caught Miss Singh’s tiny approving nod, and added, “Would you care to join us, Miss Singh?”

“Oh, surely—” Maurice Haworth began.

Miss Singh said over him, “I would be delighted. Thank you. I am sure I shall find it entertaining.”

Lady Anna’s cheeks were heavily powdered for Pat’s taste; it didn’t hide the flare of red over her cheeks. Mr. Haworth drawled, “Such unity. And what did you think, Jack? Do you share my wife’s opinion, or will you side with the majority?”

“I found it absurd yet greatly enjoyable,” Mr. Bouvier-Lynes said with a smile. “So I agree with all parties.”

“Of course you do.” Lady Anna sounded icy but her nostrils were flared. Apparently she hadn’t expected to be slapped down quite so comprehensively. “How strange. I had thought you said something completely different to me. A man for all seasons, aren’t you, Jack?”

“Mr. Bouvier-Lynes is behaving with decorum at the dinner-table,” the Countess said. “Something that I should not have to tell my daughter to emulate.”

Lady Anna inhaled sharply. “My dear,” the Earl mumbled.

“This is my table,” the Countess said. Her voice was edged with something like defiance. “I think I may speak to my daughter as I choose. Now, let—”

“But she isn’t your daughter,” Haworth said silkily. “She’s my wife. I think some of you around this table are in danger of forgetting that, aren’t you? Anna certainly does, and I think it slips Jack’s mind too.”

The Countess’s mouth was a rigid line. She was looking ahead, not at Haworth. Jimmy stared at his plate. Pat tried to catch Bill’s eye. She couldn’t tell what was happening, but the atmosphere was thick as stew.

“Granted she is your wife,” the Earl said, with audible reluctance. “But she was our daughter first and my wife is entitled to speak to her—”

“No, she is not,” Haworth said. His tone was light, even pleasant, except for a coil of malice that hung around the words like cigarette smoke. “I don’t choose to have my wife insulted. Do I, Anna?”

“For God’s sake,” Jimmy said through his teeth, as though the words were forced out. “A few words in the heat of the moment. Let’s just forget it, shall we? We’re starting at seven tomorrow, gentlemen—which includes you, Pat; does everyone have things ready?”