Jack Lett looked down at him. “Only way I can think,” he said briskly. “And I’ve got plenty of things to think about.”

“What things?” asked Charles Bannister. He did not really want to know: he was contented, slightly muzzy, after the drinks and the long lunch. But he was never prepared to give Jack Lett a free hand, within any part of the organization: he tried always to make the point that Lett’s work was only a small proportion of the total of their activities, even though it was clear that the business side of the Guild, the actual selling of Esther Costello products, was looming larger and larger every day.

He remembered that Jack Lett had taken to calling himself Business Manager, and he frowned, and repeated: “What things?” as curtly as he could. Esther Costello was still a Charles Bannister promotion, and she was going to remain so.

“Australia, chiefly,” answered Lett. “It seems a hell of a long way to go, just for three weeks’ tour. We ought to make it longer.”

“That’s a policy matter,” said Charles Bannister briefly, like a nurse dismissing a child with ‘You’ll know when you’re grown-up’ … “Before I mapped out the tour, I had to decide the total amount of time we could spend away from America. I didn’t want to make it more than six months, at the outside.”

“Why not?” Jack Lett was like Bannister himself, in being impervious to snubbing, unabashed by protocol. “A year wouldn’t be too long. I’ve got a lot of selling to do, before we get back from this world trip.”

“In a year, people in America might have time to forget Esther.” Charles Bannister, irritated by being lured into discussion, slopped out some more brandy into his balloon glass, and sipped at it, frowning. “That’s something I want to avoid.”

“But she’s making other friends, all the time. It evens out. And America won’t forget her so soon, anyway. Not with the kids’ clubs working on it the way they are.”

“It’s dangerous, nonetheless. America is still our top priority. That’s where the money is.”

“Not all of it. We haven’t done so badly here. Look at the Albert Hall meeting. A sell-out.”

“Oh, the meetings are all right.” Charles Bannister’s tone was spiteful. “But what about sales? What about the uniforms?”

Jack Lett shrugged. “Goddamn British … They don’t seem to like dressing up.”

Standing by the window, Mrs Bannister broke in, with an old argument. “We never really needed to leave home,” she said to her husband. “We were doing all right, just on the American basis.”

The two men smiled at each other. On this point at least, they were in full agreement.

“Esther’s big enough to be a world figure,” said Charles Bannister complacently. “This tour will make her just that. Look what’s happened here in London – a riot. Look at the Press coverage. They may not buy the uniforms, or the games–”

“Games are OK,” Jack Lett chipped in. “Twenty-two per cent up on last week.”