‘But character-forming,’ said Giles, ‘and I have a feeling this is a match young Freddie will never forget.’
Freddie disappeared into the pavilion and slumped down on a bench in the far corner of the dressing room, head still bowed, unmoved by the cries of ‘Well played, lad’, ‘Bad luck, sir’, and ‘A fine effort, my boy’, because all he could hear were the cheers coming from the adjoining room, assisted by pints being drawn from a beer barrel supplied by the publican.
Giles joined Freddie in the home dressing room and sat down on the bench beside the desolate young man.
‘One more duty to perform,’ said Giles, when Freddie eventually looked up. ‘We must go next door and congratulate the Village captain on his victory.’
Freddie hesitated for a moment, before he stood up and followed Giles. As they entered the opposition’s changing room, the Village team fell silent. Freddie went up to the policeman and shook him warmly by the hand.
‘A magnificent victory, Mr Munro. We’ll have to try harder next year.’
Later that evening, as Giles and Hamish Munro were enjoying a pint of the local bitter in the Fenwick Arms, the Village skipper remarked, ‘Your boy played a remarkable innings. Far finer teams than ours will suffer at his hand, and I suspect in the not-too-distant future.’
‘He’s not my boy,’ said Giles. ‘I only wish he was.’
41
‘DID YOU KNOW that Jessica has a new boyfriend?’ said Samantha.
Sebastian always booked the same corner table at Le Caprice where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard and he had a good view of the other guests. It always amused him that the long glass mirrors attached to the four pillars in the centre of the room allowed him to observe other diners, while they were unable to see him.
He had no interest in film stars he barely recognized, or politicians who were hoping to be recognized, or even Princess Diana, whom everyone recognized. His only interest was in keeping an eye on other bankers and businessmen to see who they were dining with. Deals that it was useful for him to know about were often closed over dinner.
‘Who are you staring at?’ asked Samantha, after he didn’t respond.
‘Victor,’ he whispered.
Sam looked around, but couldn’t spot Seb’s oldest friend. ‘You’re a peeping Tom,’ she said after finishing her coffee.
‘And what’s more, they can’t see us,’ said Seb.
‘They? Is he having dinner with Ruth?’
‘Not unless she’s lost a couple of inches around her waist and put them on her chest.’
‘Behave yourself, Seb. She’s probably a client.’
‘No, I think you’ll find he’s the client.’
‘You’ve inherited your father’s vivid imagination. It’s probably quite innocent.’
‘You’re the only person in the room who’d believe that.’
‘Now you have got me intrigued,’ said Sam. She turned round once again, but still couldn’t see Victor. ‘I repeat, you’re a peeping Tom.’
‘And if I’m right,’ said Seb, ignoring his wife’s remonstration, ‘we have a problem.’
‘Surely Victor’s got the problem, not you.’
‘Possibly. But I’d still like to get out of here without being seen,’ he said, taking out his wallet.
‘How do you plan to do that?’
‘Timing.’
‘Are you going to cause some kind of diversion?’ she teased.
‘Nothing as dramatic as that. We’ll stay put until one of them goes to the loo. If it’s Victor, we can slip out unnoticed. If it’s the woman, we’ll leave discreetly, not giving him any reason to believe we’ve spotted them.’
‘But if he does acknowledge us, you’ll know it’s quite innocent,’ said Sam.
‘That would be a relief on more than one level.’
‘You’re rather good at this,’ said Sam. ‘Experience possibly?’
‘Not exactly. But you’ll find a similar plot in one of Dad’s novels, when William Warwick realizes the witness to a murder must have been lying, and has to get out of a restaurant unnoticed if he’s going to prove it.’
‘What if neither of them goes to the loo?’
‘We could be stuck here for a very long time. I’ll get the bill,’ said Seb, raising a hand, ‘just in case we have to make a dash for it. And I’m sorry, Sam, but did you ask me something just before I became distracted?’
‘Yes, I wondered if you knew Jessica’s got a new boyfriend.’
‘What gives you that idea?’ said Seb, as he checked the bill before handing over his credit card.
‘She never used to care how she looked.’
‘Isn’t that par for the course for an art student? She always looks to me as if she’s been dressed by Oxfam, and I can’t say I’ve noticed any change.’
‘That’s because you don’t see her in the evening, when she stops being an art student and becomes a young woman, and doesn’t look half bad.’