The Liar

'You have a question?'

This was rather difficult.

'Donald?'

'Yes?'

'About last night . . .'

Trefusis gazed at Adrian sadly.

'Oh dear, you are not going to ask me an embarrassing question, are you?'

'Well, no,' said Adrian, 'not if it does embarrass you.'

'I meant you,' said Trefusis. 'You are not going to embarrass yourself, are you?'

Adrian gestured helplessly.

'It just seems so . . . so . . .'

'So squalid?'

'No!'said Adrian. 'I didn't mean that, I meant it seemed so . . .'

'So unlike me?'

'Well . . .'

Trefusis patted him on the shoulder.

'Let's go to the Shoulder,' he said. 'I'm sure Bob will find a nice quiet table for us.'

The Shoulder of Lamb was very crowded. Choral Scholars from St John's, limp with Pimms from an early May Week garden party, were singing an a capella version of 'Message in A Bottle' in one corner, a pair of millionaire computer designers poked each other heatedly on the chest in another. Adrian remembered how two years ago one of them had bummed cigarettes off him in the Eagle. Now his company was worth sixty million pounds.

The landlord stepped crisply forward and winked.

'Professor Trefusis, sir, and young Mr Healey!' he said, rolling his head back on his neck like a sun-struck sergeant-major. 'Bit busy this evening, sir.'

'So I see, Bob,' said Donald. 'Is there somewhere . . .?'

'I'il take you upstairs, sir.'

Bob led them through the front bar. One or two people stopped talking when they caught sight of Trefusis. Adrian was amazed at the blithe calm with which he greeted them.

'Evening, Michael! I did so enjoy your Serjeant Musgrave. Quite to the purpose. Such boots, too.'

'Simon! I see that your results were posted. A Third! You must be thrilled.'

Bob took them up the stairs.

'We was all most proud to read of your exploits in the paper, sir.'

'Why, thank you, Bob.'

'Reminds me of my old Adjutant when we was on household duties at the Palace. Fuckingham Palace we used to call it then, of course.'

'I'msure.'

'Dear oh dear, St James's Park was a sink in those days, sir. Wasn't a bush that didn't have at least one guardsman and customer in it. Course, you'll remember Colonel Bramall, won't you, sir?'

'Thank you Bob, this room will do splendidly. Perhaps Nigel could be induced to bring up a couple of the Gruaud Larose?'

'Certainly, sir. How about a nice veal and ham pie? Spot of chutney?'

'Ludicrously ideal.'

'He'll be with you in a breath, sir.'

When they had disposed of the veal and ham pie, but not the chutney, which Trefusis warned would have a most ruinous effect on the palate, he poured out two glasses of wine.

Adrian gulped at his greedily, determining that drunkenness was the only state in which to cope with his discomfort. If the Wizard of Oz was going to reveal himself as a sad and bewildered old man, Adrian didn't want to be sober when it happened.

To be fair, Donald looked about as sad and bewildered as the Laughing Cavalier as he sipped his claret and dipped his head in appreciation.

'A purist might recommend another year of ageing for the tannin to smooth out its rougher edges,' he said. 'I think it already supernacular, however.'

'It's fine,' said Adrian, pouring himself another glass.

Trefusis watched him contentedly.

'A good wine is like a woman,' he said. 'Except of course it doesn't have breasts. Or arms and a head. And it can't speak or bear children. In fact, come to think of it, a good wine isn't remotely like a woman at all. A good wine