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it.'
    The Boy Director was deputed to escort Jemima and Cherry over to the Watchtower after lunch. Jemima observed that whenever he was not coping rather frenziedly with the knives, forks and glasses by his side, as well as the persistent attentions of the Blagges - he hardly touched his wine - Nat Fitzwilliam gazed almost literally open-mouthed at Christab el Cartwright. Jemima could well imagine the effect of the return of such a dazzling creature on a stage-struck youth. How old had he been when she left?
    At this point, Jemima discovered with a slight jolt to her interviewer's complacency that Nat Fitzwilliam was not quite the naive amateur of her imagination. It was not so much the list of his credits at Oxford which impressed her - indeed she had a nasty feeling that she might have caught his Chinese (Sung Dynasty) Hamlet while at Edinburgh and found it wanting. No, it was the discovery that Nat Fitzwilliam had already directed a play for television, an opera in Holland, and part of a series for the BBC on English poets and their private lives, which Jemima had much admired. All this, while also residing in Bridset and as Nat engagingly put it, 'trying to keep the Watchtower upstanding'. It all went to show that Nat was not only older but also more energetic than he looked.
    Next to Cherry sat Julian's uncle, introduced as Major Edgar Cartwright. At first Jemima assumed that the old boy had merely been wheeled into action in order to even up the sexes a little. But Major Cartwright also revealed himself as the Chairman of the Larminster Festival Committee. Jemima expected this information to be followed up by some hard discussion of the subject. Major Cartwright, however, merely leant forward and asked Jemima one question in a very fierce voice:
    'This television business: do you pay us or do we pay you?' Having received a roughly reassuring reply - no money need necessarily change hands - he relapsed into a morose silence. This left him free to contemplate Cherry's decolletage with apparent outrage, while every now and then casting a look which Jemima interpreted as acute dislike towards his nephew's wife.
    Surprisingly, it was the Major who chose to answer Julian's open question to Christabel about her accident. She had given her little laugh and taken a sip of wine before answering - Jemima noticed that throughout the lunch Christabel's drinking, like that of Miss Kettering (and Cherry), had kept well up with the pace of the Blagges' refilling. Before Christabel could speak, the Major butted in, making his second remark of the luncheon, so far as Jemima was concerned. His voice, like that of his nephew, was commandingly loud.
    'The woman's not used to gardening any more, living in some basement in London. That's all there is to be said on the subject.' The Major took a deep swig of his red wine; Christabel drank further of her own glass. At which the Major added something like: 'Damn it', and proceeded to glare round until Mr Blagge refilled his glass. Further draughts of red wine silenced him once more completely. Christabel's fair powdered skin looked rather pink, but perhaps that was the effect of the wine.
    It was left to Nat Fitzwilliam, riding with Jemima in her Mercedes after lunch to inspect the Watch tower, to voice the obvious about the very odd social occasion they had. just attended. He was able to curl himself confidently into the front seat since Cherry, attempting to hitch a lift from Julian Carrwright, had found herself palmed off with the Major as her chauffeur.
    'I always ride with the girls on Sunday,' had been Julian Cartwright's excuse. 'Otherwise the horses wouldn't know it was the Sabbath.' He elected not to hear Cherry's valiant offer of mounting a steed herself - or perhaps a glance at her tight skirt discouraged him from taking her offer seriously.
    'Wowee,' breathed Nat Fitzwilliam. Then as if that were not sufficient, he whistled and passed his hand over his brow. 'Wow,' he added. 'What