He got to his feet as she approached the table and, holding her hand, kissed her decorously on the cheek. She saw that the bottle of Meursault—for which she, of course, would pay—was already in the cooler, a third of it drunk.

He said, “Lovely to see you, Rhoda. How did you get on with the great George?”

They never used endearments. Once he had called her “darling” but it was not a word he had ever dared to repeat. She said, “The great George? Is that what they call Chandler-Powell at Cheverell Manor?”

“Not to his face. You look remarkably calm after your ordeal, but then you always do. What happened? I’ve been sitting here avid with anxiety.”

“Nothing happened. He saw me. He looked at my face. We made an appointment.”

“Didn’t he impress you? He usually does.”

“His appearance is impressive. I wasn’t with him long enough to make a character assessment. He seemed competent. Have you ordered?”

“Do I ever before you arrive? But I’ve concocted an inspired menu for both of us. I know what you like. I’ve been more imaginative than usual about the wine.”

Studying the wine list, she saw that he had been imaginative also about the cost.

They had hardly started on their first course when he introduced what was for him the purpose of the meeting. He said, “I’m looking for some capital. Not much, a few grand. It’s a first-rate investment opportunity, small risk—well, none, really—and a guaranteed return. Jeremy estimates about ten per cent per annum. I wondered if you’d be interested.”

He described Jeremy Coxon as his business partner. Rhoda doubted whether he had ever been more than that. She had only met him once and had found him garrulous but harmless and not without sense. If he had any influence over Robin it was probably for the good.

She said, “I’m always interested in a no-risk investment with a guaranteed return of ten per cent. I’m surprised you’re not oversubscribed. What is it, this business you’re involved in with Jeremy?”

“The same as I told you about when we had dinner in September. Well, things have moved on since then, but you remember the basic idea? It’s really mine, not Jeremy’s, but we’ve worked on it together.”

“You mentioned that you and Jeremy Coxon were thinking of setting up some classes on etiquette for the newly rich who are socially insecure. Somehow I can’t see you as a teacher—or indeed as an expert on etiquette.”

“I mug it up from books. It’s surprisingly easy. And Jeremy is the expert, so he has no trouble.”

“Couldn’t your social incompetents get it from books themselves?”