No one knew where to go. They wandered into the lobby expectantly, but Mrs. Plushkov could not make her voice heard over the noise, and they wandered out again, the wives looking for somewhere to sit down, the men looking for lavatories, which by this time had been boarded up and painted over. They began to ask one another in undertones: ‘I say, where the devil is one supposed to pee in this place?’ From this introductory remark a great many conversations sprang up, and people began to get one another interested in re-equipping their firms with computers, or signing contracts for glazing and haulage. They took one another confidentially by the arm, and picked their way through the confusion of ladders and dust-sheets where workmen were putting the finishing touches to various ceremonial undertakings, leaving their wives to trail behind them talking about the shortcomings of au pair girls and the comparative advantages of oil-fired central heating. Sir Prestwick Wining and the Permanent Under-Secretary from the Ministry sat down on a freshly painted bench and painted the seats of their trousers green. The wife of the sales manager of the graph-paper suppliers left her shoe stuck in a patch of wet concrete. Chiddingfold’s little girl felt sick, and locked herself in the ladies’ lavatory, taking her bouquet with her.

By the time the staff had herded everyone into the lobby for the handshaking it was late, and there was a sticky feeling of panic in the air. People were still struggling in disorder when three o’clock came. Nobbs’s car turned into the drive, and the Institute’s recorder ensemble struck up the National Anthem. Jellicoe stepped forward, saluted, and seized the handle of the car door. It was fast.

‘I can’t open it, Your Majesty!’ he cried.

‘What?’ said Nobbs, bringing his face up against the window like a trapped animal.

‘I think it must be locked, Mr. Nobbs!’

‘Locked?’

‘Push the catch, Mr. Nobbs, Your Majesty.’

‘What catch? I can’t see one! Where is it?’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ shouted Nunn. ‘We’re already fifteen seconds behind schedule! Try the other door.’

‘That’s locked, too!’ screamed Nobbs, demoralised.

‘For God’s sake, driver,’ cried Nunn. ‘Unlock that door for him!’

‘I can’t reach it, sir,’ said the driver. ‘I can’t quite get my arm round this glass screen.’

‘Climb out of the sunshine roof, Nobbs!’ ordered Nunn.

Nobbs did so, shaking and sweating.

‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty,’ said Chiddingfold, shaking his hand.

‘Now run, Nobbs!’ shouted Nunn. ‘We’re a minute and a half behind schedule!’

Nobbs ran. First round the guard of honour, then across for his bouquet.

‘Where’s the bouquet?’ he cried, looking round desperately.

‘Never mind,’ said Nunn. ‘Keep going! Don’t forget this is the dress rehearsal.’

Nobbs ran up the steps, followed by Chiddingfold and Nunn, and plunged into the crowded confusion of the lobby, shaking hands at random.