She ignored him and went on, "So it's not surprising that Willie, with his eyes on the top, should want to do the young master a service, particularly in this area."

"You're losing me," said Joe.

"It's finding you that's the problem." She sighed. "The golf club. The Royal Hoo. Getting into the Hoo is the ultimate accolade in Luton high society. If your face doesn't fit, you've more chance of getting into the Royal Enclosure at Ascot wearing shorts like yours!"

Now Joe did feel hurt. Class didn't bother him but snipes at his fashion sense did, 'less they came from a rich client or a gorgeous in-out girlfriend. He refused to let himself be diverted, however, and asked, "So you don't just go along and pay your admission fee?"

"No! They need to look you over, check your family and friends then move on to your bank balance, your tailor and your table manners. After that if you've got someone to propose you, second you and probably third and fourth you, they take a vote-"

"Who's this they?"

"Some committee," she said dismissively. "And it just takes one blackball and you've had it."

"Black ball?" said Joe. "Don't like the sound of that."

"Don't go vulgar on me, Joe," she said.

"Sorry. So Chris is putting Willie up for membership, is that what you're saying?"

"So I'd guess. And of course if you want to get into the Hoo, then getting yourself proposed by Christian Porphyry is just about the closest thing you can get to a guarantee of success."

"Because everybody likes him, you mean?" said Joe, who didn't find this hard to believe. One of the many perks of being a YFG had to be that everybody liked you.