‘What are you suggesting?’ George Lacklander demanded as Alleyn at last put down the receiver. ‘Who have you been speaking to? What did you mean by what you said to me just now – about –’ he looked round at his mother and son an instrument,’ he said.

Lady Lacklander said: ‘George, I don’t know what you and Roderick have been talking about, but I think it’s odds on that you’d better hold your tongue.’

‘I’m sending for my solicitor.’

She grasped the edge of the desk and let herself down into a chair. The folds of flesh under her chin began to tremble. She pointed at Alleyn.

‘Well, Rory,’ she demanded, ‘what is all this? What are you suggesting?’

Alleyn hesitated for a moment, and then said: ‘At the moment, I suggest that I see your son alone.’

‘No.’

Mark looking rather desperate said: ‘Gar, don’t you think it might be better?’

‘No,’ she jabbed her fat finger at Alleyn. ‘What have you said and what were you going to say to George?’