“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“It was many years ago, sir, when we still lived in Oxford.”

“Have you been happy in your employment?”

“Yes, sir.” Graham was an understated man, but he said this emphatically. “Both in my daily duties and in the less usual ones you have asked me to perform, Mr. Lenox.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You don’t fancy a change of work?”

“No, sir. Not in the slightest.”

“You mustn’t look so stony-faced, Graham. I’m not firing you-not by a long shot. Remind me, what papers do you read?”

“Excuse me?”

“What newspapers do you read?”

“The house subscribes to-”

“No, Graham, not the house- you.”

“Below stairs we take the Times and the Manchester Guardian, sir. In my spare hours I usually read both.”

“Does anyone else read them downstairs?”

Graham looked discomfited. “Well-no, sir.”

“You know as much about politics as I do, or very nearly,” murmured Lenox, more to himself than his companion.

“Sir?”

“May I shock you, Graham?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to come work for me.”

The butler very nearly laughed. “Sir?”

Lenox sighed, stood up, and began pacing the study. “I’ve been troubled during all my time on the Continent about the business of a secretary. I interviewed eight candidates, all young men just up from Cambridge or Oxford, all of them of excellent family and eager to be personal secretary to a gentleman in Parliament. The trouble was that I felt that each one of them was sizing me up to decide when he could have my seat. They were all too ambitious, Graham. Or perhaps that’s not it-perhaps it’s simply that I didn’t know them, and I didn’t want to risk getting to know them as they worked for me.”

“You cannot be suggesting, sir-”

“You read more than half the men sitting in Parliament, Graham. More importantly, I trust you.” Lenox walked up to the study’s row of high windows, his slippers softly padding the thick rug. He stared into the bright, summery street for a few moments. “I want you to come be my secretary.”