‘Come on, Marley,’ Michael said, taking his arm to imply they were both men of the world. ‘We can hear dinner’s over. I’ll vouch for him, he’s an old school mate. Utterly reliable, quite discreet.’

They discussed me as if I were not there, and so this description gave me a little gift of pleasure, as if I had overheard it from behind a closed door. Marley wavered for a few seconds, and then nodded. ‘All right, if you say so, Findlay. But there’ll be hell to pay if the Club Secretary finds out. I’ll put his ticket on your bill.’ He wrote down our names in a large leatherbound ledger on his desk, and we were ushered through into a spacious room with red walls and deep green leather armchairs. Michael stopped to have words with Marley on the threshold. I took advantage of the moment’s privacy to examine the room. A pile of newspapers and periodicals was strewn across a central table. There were a few good pieces of heavy furniture, and along the back wall bound copies of Punch. Everything had the comfortable, lived-in air of a venerable country house that contains several children. The leather was scuffed and shabby, the bindings on the books were frayed, but they gave the impression of waiting patiently for repair, rather than sloping off towards the dump. The Lincoln-green carpet was pockmarked with a constellation of cigarette burns. A fire burned in the grate beneath a portrait of Pitt the Younger. There were two doors, one leading on to a kitchen at the far end. From behind the second, the roaring and stamping hurled itself like an angry dog against the old wood. A steward in a tailcoat, visibly drunk, emerged from the lighted kitchen. He called me Mr Collingwood, and asked me what I would like to drink. In a spirit of experimentation I told him to bring me a bottle of champagne and a cigar, and to put it on my tab. He turned around in a lazy circle.

By the time Michael had finished his conference, the steward had returned with Mr Collingwood’s order. Michael took a swig from the bottle, and made for the closed door. He grasped the handle, ready to release the pent-up sound. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s started. No one will notice you if we come in now. If you want to place a bet, just let me know.’