“Yes, that’s what brings most of our visitors these days. Business, not pleasure. I understand the town was once quite famous for fish and the fine bathing.” He looked up as Mrs. Barnett set his place and then brought his bowl of soup from the tray. “Thank you, my dear! And don’t stand on ceremony. Mr. Rutledge has finished his soup; he’s ready for the next course.”

As she set the bowl in front of Sedgwick, her eyes met Rutledge’s. He had the distinct impression that she would have enjoyed nothing more than pouring the lot over Sedgwick’s head.

“I’ll wait,” Rutledge told her, and she left them.

Sedgwick ate with gusto. “I’m famished,” he said between spoonsful. “It has been a long morning and I breakfasted shortly after six. Is that your motorcar I saw in the hotel yard? The four-seater?”

“Yes, it must be.”

“My younger son bought one like it a year before the War. Found it an admirable motor. Made the run from London in excellent time and never gave him any trouble.” He smiled wryly. “I’m at the mercy of gout, myself. Don’t fancy driving when my foot is aching like a fiend in hell.”

The conversation moved on from motors to unemployment and then to some discussion of the peace treaty that had been signed. “Is it worth the paper it was written on? I ask you! The French were vindictive as hell, and the Hun is too proud to live long under their heel!” Sedgwick shook his head, answering his own question. “Politicians are the very devil. Foolish idealists, like Wilson in America, or short-sighted and closed-minded, like that lot in Paris.”

Mrs. Barnett served them roasted ham and a side dish of carrots and potatoes, seasoned with onions, still steaming from the ovens. As she rearranged the salt and pepper to accommodate the various dishes, she asked Sedgwick if he cared for hot mustard sauce. He smiled and helped himself from the silver bowl she held for him, then sighed. “I don’t think anyone can match Mrs. Barnett’s mustard sauce. She won’t tell me how she makes it. And so I try to remember which days she’s likely to serve it. You’ll find it excellent!”

As she moved away after serving the sauce to Rutledge, Sedgwick added, “Know the Broads well, do you?”

“I’ve come here a time or two. A friend kept a boat west of here, but that was before the War. He’s not up to sailing these days.” Ronald had been gassed at Ypres; the damp ravaged his lungs now.

“Never been much for the sea myself. But one of my sons was fond of boats and took us out a time or two.” He smiled sheepishly. “Not the stomach for it, if you want the truth.”