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Australian which failed to sully the reputation of a truly great Englishman’. Ruby was outraged—‘those stupid, pig-ignorant, ill-informed, melon-headed…’—but Gerald didn’t care what the papers said about him. Sir Mason Green was gone. That was all that mattered.
    A flurry of activity overtook life in the Chelsea townhouse. Gerald’s mother, even busier than usual, was organising a party. ‘There’s no use having a ballroom if you don’t use it,’ Vi said to Gerald. ‘Now that your father and I have returned to London, it’s the perfect opportunity to make our presence felt.’ Invitations had gone out. More than two hundred guests were expected. Decorations had been ordered, flowers arranged, menus planned.
    In the days leading up to the big night, Gerald’s father did his best to keep out of the way, spending most of the time at the cricket at Lord’s. Gerald was keen to follow his father’s example. So when the telephone rang the morning of the party and it was Ruby, he was happy to accept any suggestion that would get him out of the house. Even—
    â€˜Shopping?’ Gerald said.
    â€˜You’ve got something better to do?’ Ruby asked.
    Gerald looked at his mother. She and Mr Fry were going over the dinner plans. A sheaf of menus and seating charts covered the kitchen table. From the expression on Vi’s face, she could have been planning the invasion of Europe.
    â€˜Where do you want to meet?’ Gerald said into the phone. ‘And can we make it really, really soon?’

    Oxford Street was alive with shoppers. The late summer that had warmed London that year was still bringing smiles to the city’s inhabitants, and they were making the most of the final days before the first chill winds of autumn blew in.
    At the back of a restaurant, on a side street away from the colourful shopfronts and the crowds, Gerald, Sam and Ruby sat in a booth. A mountain of shopping bags lay at their feet. After hours of shopping and planning, they were exhausted.
    The remnants of a meal of burgers, chips and milkshakes were spread across the table. Sam belched. ‘Not up to Mrs Rutherford’s standards,’ he said, rubbing his belly, ‘but it filled a hole.’ He let out a satisfied sigh.
    Ruby turned to Gerald. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea—a week camping in the Lake District sounds perfect. I’ll ask our parents, but I’m sure we’ll be able to come.’
    Gerald nudged his foot against the pile of shopping bags under the table. ‘You better come,’ he said. ‘Or I’ve just bought a tonne of camping gear for nothing.’
    Sam groaned. ‘I can’t believe we have to go back to school so soon. This holiday’s flown by.’
    â€˜Have your parents decided about school for you yet, Gerald?’ Ruby asked. ‘Are you going back to Sydney?’
    â€˜They’re talking about boarding school,’ Gerald said. ‘But until they make up their minds, I’m on holiday.’
    In fact, life for Gerald without the spectre of Sir Mason Green hovering over him was looking pretty good. He’d already placed an order for a customised snowboard and had convinced his mother to fly his friend Ox over from Sydney for a snow holiday the following January. ‘I’m fairly sure Geraldine kept a chalet in Klosters,’ Vi had said. ‘Possibly even two. I’ll ask Mr Prisk—it is so hard to keep up with the details.’ She had clasped Gerald’s face in her hands and given his cheeks an extra tweak. ‘You are my special little man,’ she’d cooed. ‘Walter says we have to take extra special care of you. He says you’re the reinforced slab that I need to build my life upon.’ Gerald wasn’t sure he liked being referred to as a lump of concrete.
    Ruby’s voice broke Gerald out of his daydream. ‘Aren’t