'He got me to speak at a luncheon the other week. About this burns hospital, and that. He seems a great one for the idea, does Mr Haileybury.'
'Personally, I think he's got something of a bee in his bonnet about it.'
'Maybe so,' said the politician guardedly.
Graham had heard of Haileybury's plan only second-hand. It seemed that Haileybury, once reconciled to the Government's cossetting the nation's health to a greater extent than providing clean water and drains, had turned himself into a crusader for the new scheme. He suddenly woke up to its offering an outlet for his qualities of administration, sadly frustrated once he put away his uniform. He was particularly taken with the idea of establishing a hospital in London for burns and accidents, arguing that the experience gained during the war should not be dispersed, but concentrated under one roof and passed to visiting surgeons from countries which had regrettably been spared the opportunity for such practice. The Ministry of Health was sympathetic to Haileybury, but doubtful. They had to find the money to put roofs on the old hospitals before digging the foundations of new ones.
Graham had a dozen questions he would like to have asked the Minister about the fuel crisis. But politicians, like medical men, must learn to keep their counsel, and he found himself talking instead about the restarting of international football. Then Lord Cazalay reappeared and said, 'Fred, I must tear Sir Graham away. There's someone else I'd particularly like him to have a word with.'
As Graham allowed himself to be led across the room, Lord Cazalay asked, 'Isn't Liz coming? I thought you were giving us the pleasure of looking at her?'
'She's meeting me here. The curtain at her show doesn't ring down till after ten.'
'That's splendid news. Graham, this is Arthur King. A very close friend of mine.'
Arthur King struck Graham as resembling a worried ferret He was a youngish man, certainly not over thirty, with thinning fair hair and sidewhiskers. He wore a smart blue double-breasted suit with over-emphasis on the lapels, a dark striped shirt, and a plain grey tie with a diamond pin stuck in it. His green eyes had an expression of continual anxiety in them, and if he had ever learned to smile he seemed to have forgotten the knack.
'Pleased to meet you,' said Arthur King.
'Of course, you'll know all about Sir Graham's work in the war,' Lord Cazalay said affably.
'Yes, I read about it in the papers.' He inspected Graham anxiously. 'You fixed all them pilots up with new faces, didn't you? Must be a clever feller.'
Graham nodded. To have his work praised by a Minister of the Crown was one thing. Approbation from a man who might have left his fruit-barrow at the door was less welcome. Still, he told himself, society was changing, you had to take people as they came, if you played the snob you got nowhere.
'You'll remember, Arthur, that Sir Graham has an interest in our travel business.'
'Smart lad. Going like a bomb, that little company. It's only the beginning, mind. Once these bloody restrictions come off, the market'll be wide open.'
'I hope I'll see something back for my money,' said Graham, for the sake of making conversation. 'It isn't much fun paying it all away in taxes.'
'Oh, taxes,' said Arthur King, contemptuously. 'There's another little idea of ours. Shall we tell him, Charles?'
'Television,' said Lord Cazalay.
'There's not much future in that surely?' Graham looked surprised. 'Nobody will be able to afford the sets.'
'Another ten years and there'll be one in every home,' said Arthur King confidently. 'Just like the toilet.'
Graham's instruction in the mysteries of commerce was interrupted by the arrival of Liz.
Liz was an actress. Not a particularly well-known one-indeed, discovery of her name generally called for a fairly close reading of the programme. She was in one of the postwar revues, with a small part which hardly justified her style of living. She had an enviable knack of getting to know the people who mattered, and an even more valuable one of dropping them before they ceased to. She was a big woman, red-haired, with enormous teeth. Graham supposed she must be well past forty. He had met her a few weeks before, in the dressing-room of an actor whose noble features had illuminated the musical-comedy stage for some decades, and now, with his assistance, seemed likely to continue lightening it for some decades more. Graham had begun to move among theatrical people, even adopting some of their little affectations. It pleased him to see himself as part of their scene, to understand their momentously whispered trivial gossip. He found Liz heavy going, but a man must have a companion, and he was never one to play the monk.
'Graham darling, how wonderful.' Liz embraced him warmly, simultaneously managing to take a glass from her host. 'And Arthur, bless you, how nice. Thank you so much for all those lovely nylons. You
'Glad you liked them,' said Arthur briefly.
