Archie shifted uncomfortably, uncrossed his legs, brushed his lapel. ‘Oh. The other day … he had said that he was looking for a chap to be this damned l’Aiglon but they weren’t so easy to find, not like pebbles on the beach, and I simply said that you had found one on our beach. I think that I said it to irritate him because he had so irritated me.’ He looked about the floor aimlessly. ‘It was a fatuous thing to say, perfectly silly, but I was fussed … you know. Didn’t think.’

‘Apparently.’

‘Perfectly odious remark, I know. Sorry. But he riled me so. Anyway he was transfixed, asked to meet him. I called Marcus over; he was charming, polite, called him Sir and so on. Seemed rather amused. I left them to it, I’m afraid – I’d had quite enough – went and got myself a drink, needed it, and got caught up with Courtney again begging for an introduction to the Great Man, as he called him. I ask you! Anyway: when I got back … with blasted Courtney, I mean what could I do? They both were chattering away together, and Grottorosso had the most curious expression on his face. Had his arm round the boy’s shoulder, very … avuncular … very intense. He suddenly reminded me, well, the odd look did, of a chap we had in the Regiment, Hill: read Sanskrit and Greek at Cambridge, pale, aesthetic, very cold. If any of the chaps came up on a charge of some kind he used to suggest they accept his punishment or go on up to the Old Man. Most of them accepted his. Six of the best, across the backside with a riding-crop. Not quite right, I thought? Only suggested it to the young chaps, well built, bigger than himself. Well … Grottorosso had the same kind of look. I’d forgotten all about Clive “Whacker” Hill until that moment. Most unpleasant.’

‘And Marcus?’ Cuckoo had pleated a fold of material, pressed it between her finger and thumb.

‘Oh, you know the young. Wasn’t phased, stood there grinning cheerfully … and then Reggie Courtney butted in and bleated away about some damned film, and broke it all up. I was jolly glad when the gong went for luncheon. I excused myself as a host and hopped off … left them to it.’

She looks tireder than tired, he thought. Not just tired, I mean. Pinched. Not really listening to me, more interested in the Pollock boy: I think that everybody has rather overstayed their welcome. Enough is enough. I’d like her to rest for a bit, get Poteau up and give her a good checkup. I mean, it’s silly; too many people. Time to wind things up. She’s not young any longer. He got up and walked to the windows.