‘I know Miss Mayfield, of course, of course. Good evening. I was so taken aback for a moment. I was given to understand that you had left these parts. What a very pleasant surprise. Now, what will you drink?’

‘Tomato juice,’ said Miss Mayfield obediently.

‘Ah, yes. I remember perfectly. We drank coffee together, didn’t we? And you, my dear? The usual dry Martini? Such a pity, you know. An appreciation of sherry will die with my generation, and nobody will realize what the world has lost.’

The Selbury Town and Country Club did not employ a bar-waiter; members fetched their own drinks, and as Mr Freeman went with sprightly step to the bar, Miss Benson said, out of the corner of her mouth:

‘Look out for him, Miss Mayfield. He’s an old wolf if ever there was one. I will say, to his credit, he sticks to his age group, which some don’t.’

‘I paid you my promised visit,’ Mr Freeman said, setting down the glasses and then taking the chair next to Miss Mayfield’s. ‘I had occasion to go to Renham – a little matter of business – and as it was a fine day, and Saturday, yes, the first Saturday in August if I remember rightly, I drove on, hoping to claim that cup of coffee. They were packing your belongings. I was very much disappointed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll make the effort again.’

He looked at her a trifle blankly.

‘You are still living in Walwyk, Miss Mayfield?’

‘Of course she is,’ Miss Benson broke in. ‘Oh, I know what happened. You got hold of that idiotic story that was going the rounds. All the brats heard it, too, and wept buckets.’

‘I met with a slight accident, Mr Freeman, and suffered a temporary loss of memory. I suppose, with typical exaggeration, they told you that I should spend the rest of my life in a padded cell.’

It was so near to what he had been told by the young woman and Canon Thorby’s chauffeur, who was nailing down the crate of books, that Mr Freeman felt, and looked, quite uncomfortable. Even Miss Benson seemed affected by it, fiddled with her glass and then lighted a cigarette with more fuss and force than usual.

‘An accident?’ Mr Freeman repeated. ‘Dear me, I am sorry to hear that. You look – if I may say so – a great deal better than when I saw you last. I hope that is an indication of a complete recovery. What happened?’

Miss Mayfield told him briefly. Miss Benson added:

‘Typical, that is. The best streamlined models for the young; for the teachers something out of Jane Eyre or Nicholas Nickleby. It was just the same with the piano. We struggled on with the first one ever made, I swear, until about three years ago, when some stub-fingered little cretin decided he wanted to learn to play. Then we got the Broadwood.’