‘For God’s sake, sir,’ Charlie had said in alarm, ‘wherever else you look – don’t look at me!’

‘No?’

‘No! Emphatically – no,’ said Charlie. ‘Whom have you in mind? Oh? What a shame! He would have been perfect but I suppose he’s half-way home by now?’

Sly and plausible, Sir George took a moment or two before replying. ‘Half-way home? Nothing of the sort – as well you know, Charlie! He’s still got a month’s leave – and, I will add, a month’s richly deserved leave. In fact, it could hardly be more convenient when you consider where he has elected to spend the last few weeks.’

‘Why? Where?’

‘Well, you may not believe this and it’s extraordinary how often these things fall into place but he is, in fact, currently in Peshawar. And why? Because a wartime friend of his, seconded to the Scouts, is commanding the fort at Gor Khatri!’

Not for the first time Charlie Carter felt a spurt of irritation at the way in which Fate played good cards into the hands of the manipulative Sir George. He had once said as much to his wife. Meg had looked at him pityingly and replied that in her opinion, if Sir George were ever to be so unwise as to play cards with Fate, you could be sure that he’d rigged the deck beforehand.

Dismissively Charlie said, ‘Well, he may be perched up there in Peshawar but there’s no reason to suppose he’d take this job on… I mean – poor old sod! – he’s been trying to get home for nearly six months. He won’t let you involve him again! Really, when all is said and done – why should he?’ But even as he spoke he could hear himself saying apologetically, ‘Sorry, Joe! Did my best for you but – you know how it is with Sir G.’

Unaware of the plans that were being made for her future, Lily Coblenz sat amongst the debris of empty glasses, ashtrays and discarded buttonholes as the ball drew to its conclusion. An ADC appeared at her elbow. ‘Sir George,’ he said deferentially, ‘would be delighted if he might have the next dance.’

Instantly Lily sparked up into complete wakefulness. ‘Tell Sir George,’ she said graciously, ‘that I too would be delighted!’

She tried not to hear the sigh of relief with which Edward Dalrymple-Webster greeted this; she tried not to hear Nick Carstairs’ ‘Get me a brandy, Neddy. God knows I’ve earned it!’ and with a courteous smile she allowed the ADC to escort her to Sir George’s table.

Sir George watched the young woman weaving her way around the dance floor towards him. Damned little nuisance she might be but she certainly had style. He compared her confident carriage and elegant get-up with that of the other women present – mostly military and civil service wives. In her slender cream silk dress, its simplicity relieved only by a rope of black pearls (a gift, it was rumoured, from a susceptible nabob), she made the others in their pink satins, mauve tulles and raspberry chiffons look like a box of bonbons, he thought. ‘Well coupled up, short back… ’ He appraised her for a moment and added, ‘Nice mover!’

‘Ah!’ he said expansively, rising to his feet as she approached. ‘You are the most elusive young woman, do you know that? I’ve been the whole evening trying to attract your attention – trying to hack my way through the throng of admirers. When you get to my age you don’t expect preferential treatment.’

‘Sir George,’ said Lily firmly, ‘you don’t fool me! I’ve been trying to catch your eye the whole evening so it seems that we have at last both achieved our heart’s limited desire!’

George had noticed that the girl’s language veered between the two extremes of Edith Wharton heroine and Zane Grey ranch-hand. Tonight it seemed the Edith Wharton heroine was on parade and he was grateful for that.

The band moved smoothly from a foxtrot into the waltz from The Merry Widow. ‘Just about my pace,’ said Sir George comfortably, slipping a practised and surprisingly muscular arm around her shoulder. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said cheerfully, ‘how much trouble this dotty idea of yours has landed me in! You can’t imagine how close I have come to saying on more than one occasion, “Quite out of the question,” because that’s what everybody’s been saying. But I’ll cut a long story short – you leave for Peshawar tomorrow. By train. You’ll be up there for a week and then you’ll be back here again. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’ll be pleased to see you but I will certainly be relieved to see you.’

Delighted, but not surprised to have got her own way, Lily favoured him with a flirty toss of the head and a knowing glance. ‘My! Your sweet talk, Sir George, fairly makes my head spin!’

With dignity they stepped on to the floor together and Sir George resumed, ‘There will be two companies of Scouts whose role is exclusively to look after you! And, further, I have arranged for you to come under the direct care and supervision of a policeman. A London policeman.’

Lily stopped in mid-swirl. ‘Scouts? A London bobby? Sir George, what is this?’ she said with suspicion. ‘Are you going to add a London nanny and a Yeoman of the Guard too? I don’t like the sound of this! Is it meant to put me off? Because I warn you – it won’t!’

Sir George laughed. ‘Don’t get the wrong impression! When I say “Scouts”, I’m not talking about little boys in knee pants doing their best to be prepared! I’m talking about the irregular forces which man the frontiers of Empire in this part of the world. Pathan other ranks, British officers… very tough men indeed! Best shots in the British Army, best horsemen too. They can run thirty miles under a hot sun, barrampta a village and be back in time for tiffin.’

‘Carrying a mule on their back?’ said Lily, unimpressed. ‘If they were Texas Rangers they could!’

Sir George cleared his throat and swept her into a tight reverse turn. ‘At all events you’ll find they’re very businesslike. They won’t stand any nonsense!’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Lily apprehensively.

‘I mean what you’re afraid I mean. They won’t let you get away with anything and you’ll have to do what you’re told. Is that understood?’

‘What I’m told? Who’s going to tell me?’

‘The man I just mentioned, the, er, the London bobby as you call him. The man I’m putting in charge of the whole security operation. He’s an officer from Scotland Yard who just happens to be up in those parts.’

‘Scotland Yard?’ For a terrible moment a vision appeared before Lily of a helmeted, confidential, fatherly London Sergeant of Police, possibly with a restraining pair of handcuffs in his back pocket. ‘What’s the good of that? You folks have been lining up to tell me this frontier is wilder than the Wild West. What would I do with a bobby out there? I know about bobbies. He’ll be armed with nothing more than his night stick!… This isn’t going to be a stroll down Piccadilly, you know!’ Lily was pleased to return in a starched English accent a phrase she had heard addressed to herself several times over the past few days.

‘This chap is quite a – ah – quite what you’d call “a tough guy”. He’s Commander Joseph Sandilands, DSO, Royal Scots Fusiliers, ex-Military Intelligence.’ Sir George smiled at a happy thought. ‘Joe Sandilands halted the advance of the Prussian Guard for four hours. Single-handed. So – with the aforementioned companies of Scouts, of course – he should be a match for you!’