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“Mr. Clifton,” said a voice a few moments later. “What a pleasant surprise. I was only asking your brother-in-law the other day if there had been any progress in getting Anatoly Babakov released.”
“Sadly not, Sir Alan, but that wasn’t the reason I was calling. I need to see you fairly urgently, on a private matter. I wouldn’t bother you unless I considered it important.”
“If you say it’s important, Mr. Clift
on, I’ll see you whenever it’s convenient, and I don’t always say that, even to cabinet ministers.”
“I’m in London today to visit my publishers, so if by any chance you could fit me in for fifteen minutes this afternoon…”
“Let me check my diary. Ah, I see the prime minister is at Lord’s to watch the test match, where he’ll have an unofficial meeting with Indira Gandhi, so I don’t expect him back at No.10 much before six. Would four fifteen suit you?”
* * *
“Good morning, Freddie. It was kind of you to invite us.”
“My pleasure, Giles. Nice to be on the same side for a change.”
Giles laughed. “And this is my nephew, Sebastian Clifton, who works in the City.”
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” said Sebastian, as he shook hands with the president of the MCC. He looked out onto the magnificent ground, which was quickly filling up in anticipation of the opening salvoes.
“England won the toss and have elected to bat,” said the president.
“Good toss to win,” said Giles.
“And is this your first visit to the home of cricket, Sebastian?”
“No, sir, as a schoolboy I saw my uncle score a century for Oxford on this ground.”
“Not many people have achieved that,” said the president, as two of his other guests entered the box and came across to join them.
Sebastian smiled, although he was no longer looking at the former captain of England.
“And this,” said the president, “is an old friend of mine, Sukhi Ghuman, not a bad spin bowler in his time, and his daughter Priya.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ghuman,” said Giles.
“Do you enjoy cricket, Priya?” Seb asked the young woman, whom he tried not to stare at.
“That’s a rather silly question to ask an Indian woman, Mr. Clifton,” said Priya, “because there wouldn’t be anything to talk to our men about if we didn’t follow cricket. How about you?”
“Uncle Giles played for the MCC, but when bowlers see me, they don’t expect it to be a lasting experience.”
She smiled. “And I heard your uncle say you work in the City.”
“Yes, I’m at Farthings Bank. And you, are you over here on holiday?”
“No,” said Priya. “Like you, I work in the City.”
Sebastian felt embarrassed. “What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a senior analyst at Hambros.”
Let’s wind back, Seb wanted to say. “How interesting,” he managed, as a bell rang and rescued him.
They both looked out onto the ground to see two men in long white coats striding down the pavilion steps, a signal to the packed crowd that battle was about to commence.
* * *
