SURGEON AT ARMS

Graham laughed. 'Oh, there are ways and means. I bought it a month ago-very reasonably, once I got hold of the francs. I don't think one should take these restrictions too seriously. After all, there are so many of them, if we observed the letter of all the laws we wouldn't be able to stray from our front doors.'

'It's a very kind offer, Graham, but I don't know when we'll have a chance to take you up on it.'

'I've hardly had a chance myself. I'm sending Sheila Raleigh down there next month-you know, Tom Raleigh's widow. She needs a holiday. I've given her the job of secretary to this Annex Club. There's an awful lot of work to do, quite a lot of money in the kitty It's a way for me to make amends. If I have any amends to make.' Graham finished his drink. 'It was sad about Tom. It shook me badly at the time. Too much so, perhaps. I felt somehow I was responsible. But how could I have been? I must have been feeling oversensitive in those days. Anyway, Sheila's getting married again this summer, some fellow out of the Navy. Do you want another drink?'

'No, I must get home, I'm afraid.' John rose. 'I promised Denise I wouldn't arrive back in too alarming a condition.'

'Do you think you'll find a taxi?'

'I'll walk. We're not far away, across the Park.'

'John, I wonder if you'd like to take over my anaesthetic work again?'

John paused, getting into his overcoat. This will prove, Graham thought, if he holds everything against me still.

'It's good of you, Graham, but I'm afraid my time for private work is absolutely booked.'

'Too bad,' murmured Graham.

He does hold it against me, Graham told himself. And quite badly. Probably Denise is behind it

'Perhaps when things become more organized we can team up again?' Graham suggested vaguely.

'Yes, perhaps we can,' said John.

Graham closed the door behind his guest. He stood alone in the middle of the room. Something was disturbing him. He looked round, then sprang towards the mantelpiece and seized the ornamental clock. He looked at it foolishly for a moment, and carried it out to the kitchen. He had let it run down, and the woman who cleaned the flat must have rewound it. He hated clocks. Tick tock, tick tock. Every one a click along the ratchet towards extinction. Such thoughts came upon him often now that he lived alone. He sat down heavily in the armchair, telling himself he was really becoming dreadfully neurotic. Perhaps it was all to do with the symptoms of the male menopause.

19

The party was in Grosvenor Square, in a block of flats occupied mainly by Americans left over from the war, the only class of people in the country who could afford the rent. Lord Cazalay occupied the penthouse which covered most of the top floor. Graham admitted that his brother-in-law seemed to be making a success of his life. Despite the currency restrictions, the travel business appeared to be prospering, and he claimed to have his fingers in all manner of tasty pies. He always treated Graham with the warmest affability. Graham did not deceive himself this was through fraternal love, or remorse for past malevolence. Sir Graham Trevose was a useful name to keep around him. Graham didn't object overmuch. If you wanted such things as whisky, beefsteaks, suit lengths, or villas on the Riviera, you couldn't be squeamish over the company you kept.

'Graham, I'm delighted you could come.' Lord Cazalay pushed his way through the noisy crowd of guests. 'I hope you got over that dinner last night. I read about it in the papers.'

'I left before they started breaking the place up.'

'Very wise. It must be gratifying to know you've got these young men in such good spirits again.'

'I only did my best,' Graham told him modestly. 'Some of them would still give a girl a nasty scare on a dark night.'

'Champagne? I was rather lucky to get this consignment across the Channel. There's someone I'd like you to meet.'

Lord Cazalay led Graham across the room, putting his arm round his shoulders, to demonstrate either affection or possession, Graham wasn't sure.

'Fred, this is Sir Graham. I know you'll be glad to meet him.' Graham found himself facing a short, square man with a leathery face, smoking a pipe. 'This is Fred Butcher,' Lord Cazalay introduced him. 'You know, from the War Office.'

Graham recognized one of the Ministers who had been swept to breathtaking heights by the flood of electoral popularity, to be left sitting forlornly on his isolated peak as the tide abruptly turned. He was a rather colourless public figure, a fair-minded, hard-working, trade union official with a valuable flair for bedding down lambs with lions. Graham wondered how he got on with the more peppery generals.

'Glad to meet you, Sir Graham. Heard a lot about you during the war, of course.'

'Perhaps too much?' Graham asked. 'That's some people's view.'

'Every word was deserved, I'm sure of that.' He relit his pipe and added, 'You know a surgeon called Mr Haileybury, I believe?'

'Extremely well.'