'Now, Sheldon' – still the whispers, host and hostess oblivious of their amused audience – 'it's just one of those things, and you know how careful one has to be with the help.'

'Blast the help!'

Natalie Griffiths said patiently, 'I thought you ought to know. But let me deal with it, dear.'

"Oh, very well.' His Excellency smiled – a mixture of resignation and affection – and together they returned to their original place by the fire.

'Sic (transit gloria. The voice which launched a thousand aeroplanes may not now rebuke the scullery maid.' It had been said with an edge and a shade too loudly. The Prime Minister frowned.

The speaker was Harvey Warrender, Minister of Citizenship and Immigration. He stood beside them now, a tall, pudgily built figure with thinning hair and a bass, booming voice. His manner was habitually didactic – a hangover, perhaps, from the years he had spent as a college professor, before entering politics.

'Steady, Harvey,' Arthur Lexington said. That's royalty you're treading on.'

'Sometimes,' Warrender responded, his voice lower, 'I resent reminders that brass hats invariably survive.'

There was an uncomfortable silence. The reference was well understood. The Warrenders' only son, a young air force officer, had been killed heroically in action during World War II. The father's pride in his son had been lasting, as had his grief;

Several replies to his remark about brass hats might easily have been made. The Governor General had fought bravely in two wars, and the Victoria Cross was not awarded lightly… Death and sacrifice in war observed no boundaries of rank or age…

It seemed best to say nothing.

'Well, on with the motley,' Arthur Lexington said brightly. 'Excuse me, Prime Minister; Harvey.' He nodded, then crossed the room to rejoin his wife.

'Why is it,' Warrender said, 'that to some people certain subjects arc embarrassing? Or is there a cut-off date for remembrance?'