Gertrude cracked her boiled egg. “Don’t even think of going yet. All that ‘in three days guests are stale’ nonsense simply doesn’t apply to you. It’s such a pleasure having you here, and I love the idea of your article. Stay as long as you like.”

“I’ve imposed long enough. I’ll pick up my photographs this morning—some for you, and after that I’ll be making tracks. I’m sure you have lots to do.”

“Eliot is arranging dates for us to see potential investors in Manchester and London. While I’m in London, I’ll go to the Adoption Society. There’s an infant who sounds just the sort of little fellow I’m looking for.”

“What good news! You must want to scoop him up and bring him home.”

“He has some minor ailment and so I can’t fetch him yet.” She was looking through the latest copy of The Lady and slid it across the table to me. “Third one down in the employment wanted. She looks a likely candidate for nursemaid. I wouldn’t know what to do with a sick child.”

I read the woman’s advertisement. “She is experienced and has references.”

“I shall write today. She could meet me in London and bring the child back.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

Raynor came in to call Gertrude to the telephone.

She stood. “Excuse me, Kate. That’ll be Eliot.”

“It’s all right. I’ll pop into Wakefield and pick up my pictures.”

*   *   *

At Picture This, Maurice Lewis set out my framed photographs on the table. He placed the palms of his hands on the counter and looked for my approval. His work made a fine display. Gertrude alone, and Gertrude and Benjie together, were framed in hallmark silver. A finest French gilt frame set off Milly in her Sunday hat. Raynor looked out from a frame of best quality crushed Morocco.

“You’ve done a grand job, Mr. Lewis.”

“I’ll send over the rest tomorrow.” He angled the portrait of Raynor. “I like your composition, and the black of his outfit against the wood of the hand-made seat. He is every inch the proud butler.”

“He’s a good subject.”

“You caught the shadow pattern of the leaves. Very fine!” He held the portrait at arm’s length. “He puts me in mind of someone I saw on the stage, but I can’t think who. It will come to me.”

I smiled, knowing very well who it was. I took out my purse. “Thank you for doing them so quickly.

He wrapped the photographs and brought them out to my car, placing them carefully in the dicky seat, packing them round with newspaper. “Ah now it comes to me. He played Count Dracula at the Wakefield Opera House.”

“I’m sure he would be flattered to be compared to an actor, Mr. Lewis, but perhaps not the character.”