It was always a critical, self-congratulatory progress, as though he had been a master painter of vast, historical canvasses standing off a yard or two, adding a touch here, erasing a smudge there. Whilst there were times when a close inspection vexed him, these moments of irritation were soon engulfed in a tide of complacency as he reminded himself that the entire enterprise had been conjured out of a single will in what was (if one thought in terms of history) no more than a moment of time. Here, in the far-flung outposts of his personal empire, was all the evidence of his initiative and imagination, his flair for picking subordinates who shared (or so he would remind himself) his breadth of vision and power to adapt, methods and systems he devised and they put into effect. The mere contemplation of his handiwork, as he moved from one corner of the land to another, increased his sense of identification with the ethos of Britain. In this sense, if in no other, he was a Chauvinist.
