‘Yes; he came home very angry.’
‘Good!’
‘He thought of bringing the thing up again, but it was the day but one before they rose. Besides, what does the House matter? It’s about the last thing people pay attention to nowadays.’
‘My father, I’m afraid, paid terrific attention to those questions.’
‘Yes, the last generation. But the only thing Parliament does that really gets the Public now, is the Budget. And no wonder; it all comes back to money.’
‘Do you say that to Michael?’
‘I don’t have to. Parliament now is just a taxing machine.’
‘Surely it still makes laws?’
‘Yes, my dear; but always after the event; it consolidates what has become public practice, or at least public feeling. It never initiates. How can it? That’s not a democratic function. If you want proof, look at the state of the country! It’s the last thing Parliament bothers about.’
‘Who does initiate, then?’
‘Whence doth the wind blow? Well, the draughts begin in the coulisses. Great places, the coulisses! Whom do you want to stand with when we get to the guns?’
‘Lord Saxenden.’
Fleur gazed at her: ‘Not for his beaux yeux, and not for his beau titre. Why, then?’
‘Because I’ve got to get at him about Hubert, and I haven’t much time.’
‘I see. Well, I’ll give you a warning, my dear. Don’t take Saxenden at his face value. He’s an astute old fox, and not so old either. And if there is one thing he enjoys more than another, it’s his quid pro quo. Have you got a quid for him? He’ll want cash down.’
Dinny grimaced.
‘I shall do what I can. Uncle Lawrence has already given me some pointers.’
‘ “Have a care; she’s fooling thee,” ’ hummed Fleur. ‘Well, I shall go to Michael; it makes him shoot better, and he wants it, poor dear. The Squire and Bart will be glad to do without us. Cicely, of course, will go to Charles; she’s still honey-moonish. That leaves Diana for the American.’
‘And I hope,’ said Dinny, ‘she’ll put him off his shots.’
‘I should say nothing would. I forgot Adrian; he’ll have to sit on his stick and think about bones and Diana. Here we are. See? Through this gate. There’s Saxenden, they’ve given him the warm corner. Go round by that stile and come on him from behind. Michael will be jammed away at the end, he always gets the worst stand.’
She parted from Dinny and went on down the lane. Conscious that she had not asked Fleur what she had wanted to, Dinny crossed to the stile, and climbing over, stalked Lord Saxenden warily from the other side. The peer was moving from one hedge to the other in the corner of the field to which he had been assigned. Beside a tall stick, to a cleft in which was attached a white card with a number on it, stood a young keeper holding two guns, and at his feet a retriever dog was lying with his tongue out. The fields of roots and stubble on the far side of the lane rose rather steeply, and it was evident to Dinny – something of an expert – that birds driven off them would come high and fast. ‘Unless,’ she thought, ‘there’s fresh cover just behind,’ and she turned to look. There was not. She was in a very large grass field and the nearest roots were three hundred yards away at least. ‘I wonder,’ she thought, ‘if he shoots better or worse with a woman watching. Shouldn’t think he had any nerves.’ Turning again, she saw that he had noticed her.
‘Do you mind me, Lord Saxenden? I’ll be very quiet.’
The peer plucked at his cap, which had special peaks before and behind.
‘Well, well!’ he said. ‘H’m!’
‘That sounds as if you did. Shall I go?’
‘No, no! That’s all right. Can’t touch a feather today, anyway. You’ll bring me luck.’
Dinny seated herself on her stick alongside the retriever, and began playing with its ears.
‘That American chap has wiped my eye three times.’
‘What bad taste!’
‘He shoots at the most impossible birds, but, dash it, he hits ’em. All the birds I miss he gets on the horizon. Got the style of a poacher; lets everything go by, then gets a right and left about seventy yards behind him. Says he can’t see them when they sit on his foresight.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Dinny, with a little burst of justice.
‘Don’t believe he’s missed today,’ added Lord Saxenden, resentfully. ‘I asked him why he shot so damned well, and he said: “Why! I’m used to shoot for the pot, where I can’t afford to miss.” ’