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then I have yet to hear of it. Surely a few days off now would not do any harm?’
    Dr Bairstow stared thoughtfully at his cup. ‘I have, in fact, been toying with just such an idea. You are right. Some time ago, I made a promise to someone and I should act upon it. A few days away would be … very pleasant.’
    â€˜Excellent. I shall say no more. So, what do you have for me to see today?’
    The visit went well. The Chancellor was eager to be pleased. St Mary’s was eager to please. Mrs Enderby’s tour of the Wardrobe Department was particularly well received and, possibly wanting to end the visit on this positive note, Dr Bairstow escorted the Chancellor back to her car.
    Mr Strong approached, complete with watering can.
    â€˜I hope we haven’t taken any liberties, ma’am, but a few of us took a quick look under the bonnet and you shouldn’t have any problems from now on. Particularly with the small smoke canister you appear to have concealed behind the carburettor. We were a little puzzled as to its purpose, ma’am, especially as the rest of the engine is so well maintained.
    She sparkled with mischief. ‘My secret is out. I hope you don’t want your money back, Edward. Now, I must go. Thank you so much, everyone. A delightful day.’
    â€˜Our pleasure, Madam Chancellor. Perhaps you would allow Mr Strong to hand you your watering can.’
    He watched the tiny car fling itself down the drive, scrape through the gates with barely an inch to spare, and roar away.
    â€˜Ah, Mr Murdoch.’
    A passing Murdoch, who could have sworn there was no way Dr Bairstow could ever have known he was behind him, ground to a perplexed halt.
    â€˜Mr Murdoch, perhaps you can enlighten me as to why Professor Rapson has requisitioned twenty gallons of milk and twenty jars of honey?’
    Murdoch blinked. Whether in genuine innocence or as a delaying tactic was impossible to say. His big face glowed with innocence and a desire to be of assistance. ‘Sorry sir?’
    â€˜Milk? Honey?’
    Mr Murdoch appeared to give the matter some thought. ‘Perhaps a breakfast party, sir.’ Then, possibly feeling that more was required of him, ‘With a biblical theme?’
    Dr Bairstow’s look of blank incomprehension was a reminder – as if one was needed – that there were occasions when humour at St Mary’s could be a bit of a double-edged weapon.
    Murdoch regrouped himself into a vision of beaming goodwill. ‘No idea, sir. How badly do you want to know? Would you like me to investigate?’
    â€˜I’m not sure the answer will make any meaningful contribution to my peace of mind, Mr Murdoch, but I thank you nevertheless for your offer.’
    That St Mary’s was becoming an entity in its own right was apparent by the ever-increasing amounts of time Dr Bairstow was spending behind a paper-piled desk. It was noted by Markham, sinking his nose into what he considered a well-deserved pint, that the bigger the piles the shorter his temper. This statement was not disputed.
    With the amount of work to be done, Dr Bairstow might have been forgiven for postponing a small promise made more than two years ago. That he had not forgotten, however, was proved by a conversation he had with Mrs Enderby, head of Wardrobe, who listened placidly to his instructions, took notes, and enquired if the lady had a favourite colour.
    Dr Bairstow smiled. ‘I think green would be most appropriate. A light green.’
    She nodded and gathered up her notes. ‘I shall have it ready for you by the end of the week, Dr Bairstow,’ and she left the room.
    Dr Bairstow sat very still for a few minutes, and then sighed, picked up his pen, pulled out a blank mission file, and began to calculate coordinates and plan an assignment.
    Exactly as Mrs Enderby had promised, five days later, a ball gown of sea-green silk hung on the back of his door, carefully swathed in a