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That was when he qualified as an accountant. And I think he spent some time in America. Then he started his own outfit, Argon Investments. He had a piece of the action in a property company run by a man called Woolf. Woolf died, and he bought out the widow. That’s when he really took off.”
    “When was this?”
    “About ten years ago.”
    “I seem to remember that a lot of people lost a lot of money about then.”
    “Not Blackett. He saw the crash in the property market coming and sold out before it happened. That’s what gave him his reputation in the City.”
    “A wizard and a water diviner,” said Susan. “I do see that your essay on Prospects and Ideas would have to be something rather special.”
    “You will lend a hand with it, won’t you?”
    “I’ll think about it,” said Susan. “We shan’t get anything done by sitting here.”

 
5
    “Have you found somewhere to live?” said Gerald.
    “After one night spent walking the streets and a second night on a bench on the Embankment, in the shadow of Cleopatra’s Needle, inadequately covered by copies of the Daily Telegraph—”
    “Stop talking nonsense. If you really haven’t anywhere to go, I could fix you a bed in my place.”
    “You’re a true friend,” said David. “But I’m all right. I’ve organised myself a room in a small hotel not far from the Cromwell Road. I’ve got a pull with the landlady. I once saved her from a fate worse than death. I advised her not to cash a check for a respectable Scotsman who had been staying in the hotel. Her gratitude was immense and well deserved.”
    “You talk so much nonsense,” said Gerald, “that I never really know whether to believe what you say or not.”
    “It’s a form of self-protection practised by all oppressed minorities.”
    “For God’s sake, don’t start talking about the Welsh again. Haven’t you got any work to do?”
    “There is always work to do,” said David with a sigh. “I see it stretching ahead of me, mile after mile, a barren desert of toil. Every day, an oasis at the end of it. Talking of which,” he added more cheerfully, “what about coming out for a drink this evening?”
    “Certainly not. You’re totally irresponsible. You nearly got into a fight last time. And do you know who that man you insulted was?”
    “Father Bear or Mother Bear?”
    “The fat one on the left. It was Tom Porteous.”
    “I feel certain I should fall on my knees and beat my forehead three times on the floor at the mere mention of his name. Who is he?”
    “He’s the senior partner in Ancrum, Porteous and Byfold. And he happens to be one of Sam Lyon’s pet clients. And an old friend into the bargain.”
    “It’s a beautiful friendship, I’m sure. Based on bills regularly presented and regularly paid. If you won’t come out with me I’ll have to try and lead Fred Rowley astray.”
    “You’ll have your work cut out.”
    “Fortunately we both drink off the same handicap.”
     
    The Reference Section of the Hammersmith Public Library, one of the best in London, stayed open late on certain weekdays. By hurrying home, Susan could rely on getting a full hour among its shelves of reference works, treatises, blue books and Government Reports. She made occasional notes, reading more than she wrote. From her French forebears she had inherited a hard analytical mind. She preferred facts to theories. She thought of facts as small, easily handled bricks. With them you could construct buildings: square, reliable buildings, with foundations which would carry the weight of their own superstructures without crumbling or cracking.
    When the assistant, who knew her, said, “It’s past half past seven, Miss Condy,” she looked up in surprise.
    “Goodness,” she said, “how time disappears when you’re interested in what you’re doing.”
    “I don’t know what you can see in all that stuff,” said the assistant. “It looks dull to me.”
    “It is dull,” said Susan. “Terribly