Solly laughed, the essential sadness of his boldly moulded face brightening with amusement.
‘I do,’ he remarked. ‘Look at ’im. Good Old Tonker. He’s conducting this party as if it was a piece of music for massed bands. I’ve been sitting here looking at him while I’ve been chatting to Her Ladyship. It’s beautiful to watch. He does it all by ear.’ He nodded to where Tonker was standing in his beautiful blazer, stomach in, rump out, pads springy, and invisible whiskers quivering. He was talking to a group who were laughing at him, and was sipping his wine, but his eyes wandered from time to time and every now and again someone, usually a child—and there seemed to be millions of them—came up to him and received some casual instruction.
‘Do you know what he’s saying?’ Solly flicked the ash of
