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surprise, Craddock Fitch’s secretary Louise was working.
    ‘Good afternoon, Louise. I hadn’t expected to find you here on a Saturday.’
    ‘Good afternoon, Sir Ralph. I’ve been having a few days holiday while Mr Fitch was away so I thought I would catch up while the House was quiet.’
    ‘Did you go anywhere exciting?’
    ‘To Paris.’
    ‘Oh, wonderful! What a coincidence,’ Ralph said suddenly, struck. ‘Gilbert Johns has just been to Paris, too. Did you bump into him, by any chance? We had a chat about a recital he was going to in Notre Dame. He was so looking forward to it. Don’t suppose you went, too?’
    Ralph noticed that Louise was blushing. ‘We didn’t bump into each other. Mr Fitch is ready for you.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Ralph headed towards the library.
    ‘Er … excuse me, Sir Ralph, Mr Fitch isn’t in his office, he’s in his private flat. Do you know where that is?’
    ‘Oh yes, I do.’ This was the hardest bit, walking up the stairs and along the corridors. Memories flooded his mind, but he mustn’t let himself be disarmed by them; he needed to be on his mettle. The thought entered his head that old Fitch had decided to have the meeting in the flat deliberately, to disconcert him.
    The door of the flat was open so Ralph tapped with his signet ring on one of the carved panels and called out, ‘Craddock? Ralph Templeton.’
    He heard quick positive footsteps. ‘Ralph! Do come in.’ Ralph wryly noted that Mr Fitch’s country tweeds were so entirely co-ordinated that he looked as though he’d stepped straight out of the window of a Savile Row tailor, then grimly recollected the man himself was no tailor’s dummy.
    ‘Craddock! Good afternoon.’
    ‘I’ve had tea organised for us. Is that satisfactory, or would you prefer something stronger?’
    ‘Tea will be fine.’ Ralph seated himself in a huge armchair, a patriarchal kind of chair; its twin was the other side of the fireplace and Mr Fitch went to sit in it.
    Sadie Beauchamp carried in the tea tray. Ralph and, belatedly, Mr Fitch, stood up.
    ‘Good afternoon, Sadie. How nice to see you.’
    ‘Hello, Ralph. You’re back. Had a good holiday? I’ll catch up on your news with Muriel next week. Must dash. Everything’s there, Craddock, I’ll be off now.’ She put down the tray on the big round coffee table standing in front of the fire between their chairs, and beamed at them both. She and Mr Fitch kissed each other’s cheeks and she left.
    Mr Fitch explained she’d been having lunch with him and had volunteered to make the tea before she left. Ralph replied, ‘I see. Lovely woman, Sadie. Sharp mind, even sharper tongue!’ Mr Fitch smiled his agreement.
    They talked idly about this and that, and in particular about the international situation, and each in their turn prophesied the outcome, and then Mr Fitch put down his cup, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and fired his opening shot.
    ‘If I’m putting money into this cricket team I shall expect to be president.’
    ‘Ah! I see. I thought perhaps you might.’
    ‘Oh yes. There’s no point in beating about the bush. I’m allowing the use of Rector’s Meadow, paying for the renovations – or more accurately, the complete rebuilding of the pavilion – buying and supplying the equipment, too, and that’s what I want in return.’
    ‘It’s completely against tradition.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Templetons have been presidents since the cricket club was first started by my great-great-grandfather.’
    ‘Well, it’s more than fifty years since the last Templeton, your late lamented father, was president, plus no cricket team for fifty years, so I think we could safely say there’s been a break with tradition, don’t you?’
    ‘The village won’t like it.’
    ‘Come off it, Ralph. God! There’s hardly a soul living who remembers all that stuff. No, move with the times, I say. Money counts. Where else would you get it from if not from me?’
    Bitingly Ralph replied,