‘Maybe even today. He’s in town. And there are things he needs to explain.’

‘Then demand an explanation.’

‘I will.’

‘You talked to Jane about it?’

‘Not like this.’

Alice felt a brief warmth of intimacy. ‘Shouldn’t you? She’s his daughter.’

‘She’s been proposed for the charity secretaryship at the country club. He’s agreed to help her with the accounts. That’s what the golf clubs were for, to try to get him to spend more time at the club.’

‘It’ll get in the way of his other hobby.’ One of the accompanying photographs in Alice’s Forbes profile had portrayed Northcote in bib-and-brace overalls astride a tractor mower on which he frequently relaxed, supervising the gardeners at his weekend estate in upstate New York. The caption had given his Wall Street nickname of ‘Farmer George.’

‘Jane’s not happy at his doing that any more, either. Thinks it’s dangerous at his age.’

‘You don’t think golf’s going to be the alternative?’

‘He hasn’t played regularly for years.’ He hesitated. ‘Charity secretary will mean Jane staying up in the country more.’

Alice didn’t say anything.

‘I could stay over sometimes.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Would you?’

‘You know I would. When will she know?’

‘Soon. Certainly by the fifteenth.’

‘Let’s hope she gets it.’

‘It’s pretty guaranteed.’

‘Can you make Friday?’

He shook his head. ‘All the overseas executives are starting to arrive from Wednesday onwards for the conference.’

‘I’ve got another Forbes commission I can work on.’

‘You’re soon going to need your own accountant!’

‘I thought I had one.’

‘You have.’

‘Call me. Let me know what we can fix.’