‘Payment by results,’ I said. ‘If we get any good of my trip I shall submit an expense-sheet.’

‘But what about Johanna?’ came a tragic voice from half-way up the stairs. It was Sonia: pallid, voluminously wrappered, with just a tactful hint of make-up here and there which most chaps – nice chaps – would not have noticed. We all leaped to our feet and surged about getting her chairs, cushions, foot-stools and assorted restoratives. (I made a slight restorative for myself while I was about it, for George did not seem to be on form as a host that night.)

‘What about Johanna?’ she asked again, ‘hadn’t she better stay here while you’re away so that I can protect her?’

I looked at her kindly.

‘You’re very kind,’ I said, ‘but Jock, too, is no slouch in the art of defence. They call it Martial Arts nowadays but when Jock was at Borstal it was known, quite simply, as a “flying drop-kick at the wedding-tackle”. I’d back Jock against the finest Kung-fu artist ever groomed by Mr Metro-Goldwyn. He has a gift for it, you see.’

She nodded wisely. She knows she’s not clever but she thinks I am, poor deluded bitch.

‘Yes, but d’you trust the chap?’ asked George.

This annoyed me but I decided I should give a civil answer.

‘Jock is true as steel,’ I said carefully. ‘He has been in love with Shirley Temple since he was fourteen and will not lightly change. He is no butterfly. Second, he owes me a favour or perhaps two and crooks like Jock hold that sort of thing much more sacred than honest men do. Third – and I know this sounds absurd – I am the only man that Jock is afraid of.’

Sam and George shifted uneasily in their seats, they didn’t know how to cope with rubbish like that. Sonia said:

‘Oh, I think that’s absolutely beautiful. I mean, to have a relationship like that, I mean, based on wonderful mutual um …’