The front door was opened, surprisingly, not by a uniformed butler, but by Pertinax himself! Lord! The Threat to National Security, the Scourge of This-World-As-We-Know-It ambled out, barely recognisable in loose shirt, cravat, cord trousers tucked into boots and a wide smile. “Sandilands!” the man bellowed, striding towards the Lagonda, arm outstretched. “What a treat! I’m afraid you catch me underprepared for a luncheon party but then—it’s a very late arrangement we made. You are able to stay for lunch? Good man! I dropped everything. To think I might have been about the estate somewhere gralloching a stag or whatever unpleasantness they perform on the poor beasts at this time of year!” “De-antlering and worming, I think, Pertinax. You’re well out of it, man! And I’m dressed smartly enough for both of us. I put on my best Lyon silk tie in your honour.” “Charmin’. Charmin’,” Pertinax muttered with a country aristocrat’s automatic acknowledgement.
