“What are Edmund and Molly doing?” he asked Graham.

“Lady Lenox and her sons have gone to the park, sir. It’s a fine morning.”

“Depends what you mean by fine,” said Lenox. He looked at his window and winced from the sun. “It seems awfully bright. My brother’s in as much pain as I am, I hope?”

“I fear so, sir.”

“Well, there is justice in the world, then,” Lenox reflected.

“Would you like me to close your curtains, sir?”

“Thanks, yes. And can you bring me some food, for the love of all that’s good?”

“It should arrive momentarily, sir. Mary will be bringing it.”

“Cheers, Graham. Happy Boxing Day.”

“Thank you, sir. Happy Boxing Day, Mr. Lenox.”

“The staff got their presents?”

“Yes, sir. They were most gratified. Ellie in particular expressed her thanks for the set of-”

“Well, there’s a present for you in the wardrobe if you care to fetch it,” said Lenox.

“Sir?”

“I would do it myself, but I doubt I could lift a fork in my present state.”

Graham went to the wardrobe and found the broad, thin parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with brown rope.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“By all means.”

Graham carefully untied the rope and set about unwrapping the paper.

“Oh, just tear it,” said Lenox irritably.

Nevertheless, Graham stubbornly and methodically continued at the same pace. At last he uncovered the present. It was a broad charcoal drawing of Moscow, which he and Lenox had once visited. Both of them looked back on it as the adventure of their lives.

“I hardly know how to thank you,” said Graham, tilting it toward the light. He was a man with sandy hair and an earnest, honest mien, but now a rare smile dawned on his face.