“I suppose they could, but they like the human touch. We give them confidence. That’s what they’re paying for. Rhoda, we’ve identified a real market opportunity. A lot of young people—well, young men mainly, and not only the rich—worry that they don’t know what to wear for particular occasions, what to do if they’re taking a girl out to a good restaurant for the first time. They’re unsure about how to behave in company, how to impress the boss. Jeremy has this house in Maida Vale which he bought with the money a rich aunt left him, so we’re using it at present. We have to be discreet, of course. Jeremy isn’t sure it can legitimately be used for business. We live in fear of the neighbours. One of the ground-floor rooms is set up as a restaurant and we use play-acting. After a bit, when they’ve got confidence, we take the clients to a genuine restaurant. Not this place, but others not too downmarket which give us special rates. The clients pay, of course. We’re doing pretty well and the business is growing, but we need another house, or at least a flat. Jeremy is fed up with giving up virtually his ground floor and having these odd characters turning up when he wants to entertain his friends. And then there’s the office. He’s had to adapt one of the bedrooms for that. He’s getting three-quarters of the profits because of the house, but I know he feels it’s time I paid him my share. Obviously we can’t use my place. You know what the flat’s like, hardly the ambiance we’re looking for. Anyway, I may not be there for long. The landlord’s becoming very disobliging about the rent. Once we get a separate address we’ll be forging ahead. Well, what do you think, Rhoda? Interested?”

“Interested in hearing about it. Not interested in parting with any money. But it could succeed. It’s more reasonable than most of your previous enthusiasms. Anyway, good luck.”

“So the answer’s no.”

“The answer’s no.” She added on impulse, “You must wait for my will. I prefer to dispose of my charity after death. It’s easier to contemplate parting with money when you’ll have no further use for it yourself.”

She had left him twenty thousand pounds in her will, not sufficient to finance one of his more eccentric enthusiasms but enough to ensure that relief at being left anything would survive disappointment at the amount. It gave her pleasure to watch his face. She felt a small regret, too close to shame to be comfortable, that she had mischievously provoked and was enjoying his first flush of surprise and pleasure, the gleam of greed in his eyes and then the swift descent into realism. Why had she bothered merely to confirm once again what she already knew about him?

He said, “You’ve definitely decided on Cheverell Manor, not one of Chandler-Powell’s private beds at St. Angela’s?”

“I prefer to be out of London, where there’s a greater chance of peace and privacy. I’m making a preliminary overnight stay on the twenty-seventh. Apparently that’s on offer. He likes his patients to be familiar with the place before he operates.”