A glow of pleasure suffused Mr Lindsay’s rosy face. ‘Yes, it is rather fine is it not?’

‘But why so soon, Hugh? Your time as President is not over, no?’

‘Actually,’ said Mr Lindsay, ‘I have just a few months left.’ Now, leaning closer, he whispered: ‘Between the two of us, Barry, that is the occasion for this dinner – I intend to announce the name of my successor.’

‘The next President?’

‘Yes exactly …’

Mr Lindsay was about to say more but he happened to look over Bahram’s shoulder and immediately cut himself short. With a quick ‘Excuse me’ he took himself off and Bahram turned around to find himself facing Lancelot Dent.

Dent’s appearance had changed considerably since Bahram had seen him last; a slight man, with a narrow face and receding jawline, he had grown a sandy goatee, probably to extend the length of his chin. He was now brimming with an affability that Bahram had never seen in him before.

‘Ah Mr Moddie! Congratulations on your appointment – we are delighted to have you amongst us. My brother Tom sends you his very best wishes.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bahram politely. ‘I am extremely glad to have your blessings and good wishes. And of course you must call me Barry.’

‘And you must call me Lancelot.’

‘Yes. Certainly, Lance …’ The name was not easy to say but Bahram managed to get through it in a rush: ‘Of course, Lancelot.’

The gong rang, to summon the guests to the dining room, and Dent immediately slipped his arm through Bahram’s. There were no place cards on the table, and Bahram had no option but to take the chair next to Dent’s. Seated to his left was John Slade of the Canton Register.

Slade had long been a fixture on the Committee so his presence at the dinner came as no surprise. Apart from editing the paper, he also dabbled in trade – although without much success. He was reputed to have run up significant debts, but such was the fear inspired by his acid tongue and scathing pen that rare indeed was the creditor who attempted to reclaim a loan from the Thunderer.

But there was no thunder in Mr Slade’s mien now as he greeted Bahram: his large, flushed face creased into a smile and he muttered: ‘Excellent … excellent … very pleased indeed to have you on the Committee, Mr Moddie.’

Then his eyes wandered across the room and his face hardened. ‘Which is more than I can say of the Bulgarian.’

This completely baffled Bahram. Following Slade’s gaze he saw that the Thunderer was looking at Charles King, of Olyphant & Co.: this was an American firm, and Bahram knew for sure that Mr King was an American himself.

‘Did you say “vulgarian”, Mr Slade?’

‘No. I said Bulgarian.’

‘But I thought Mr King was from America. You are sure he’s Bulgarian?’

‘It is not impossible, you know,’ said Slade darkly. ‘To be both.’

‘Baap-re-baap! American and Bulgarian also? That is too much, no?’