“Major Pettigrew, right?” said Amina. “You were at the Taj Mahal with Miss DeVere and that Mrs. Ali?”

“Nice to see you and George again,” said the Major, waving at the boy and not answering the particulars of her question. “May I ask what you are attempting to do with our lovely ladies of the luncheon service?”

“I’m trying to teach them some basic folk dance routines to perform at the big dance,” said Amina with a sour laugh. “Sadie Khan told Miss DeVere that I dance, and they asked me to help.”

“Oh, dear, I’m truly sorry,” said the Major. “I can’t believe she roped you in to something so impossible.”

“If it was easy, I wouldn’t have done it,” said Amina, an ugly frown flickering across her face. “I don’t take charity.”

“No, of course not,” he said.

“Oh, who am I kidding? I really needed the money,” said Amina. “They’re not so bad if you don’t ask them to do more than three different steps. So we’ll be shaking a lot of hips, and I’m thinking of bringing bigger scarves.”

“Yes, the more veils the better, I think,” said the Major. “The naked feet will be quite alarming enough.”

“So, how well do you know Mrs. Ali?” she asked abruptly.

“Mrs. Ali runs a very nice shop,” said the Major, responding to the direct question with automatic evasiveness. “So many of our village shops are being lost today.” There was a brief pause. “May I assume you are a dancer by profession?” he added by way of turning the conversation.

“Dance, yoga, aerobics. Dance doesn’t pay very well, so I teach whatever,” she said. “Do you think she’s nice, then, Mrs. Ali?”

“You are obviously very good at what you do,” said the Major. The lunch girls were filing back into the room and he felt multiple ears listening to the conversation.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about her,” said Amina. “I was thinking of going over to see her. I heard she wants some parttime help in the shop.”

“You did?” said the Major who couldn’t see quite see her in a shop apron, stacking tins of spaghetti rings and being polite to old ladies. On the other hand, she could hardly be worse than the grumpy nephew. “I can tell you Mrs. Ali’s a lovely woman. Very nice shop,” he said again.

“Of course, it’s not what I want to do long term—shop work.” She seemed to be talking to herself, the Major thought. “And it’d have to be school hours or I’d have to bring George with me.”

“I hope you get the job,” said the Major. He looked away toward the door and raised an eyebrow to acknowledge an imaginary passing acquaintance—an invisible Alec to help him escape the room. “I must be getting along to find my partner.”

“D’you think you could give us a lift after your game?” said the young woman. The Major knew he should answer, but he found he had no idea how to parry such a bold request from a stranger. He simply stared at her. “Only it’s two different buses from here to Edgecombe,” she added. “We’ll probably have to hitchhike.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that,” said the Major. “Not safe at all, hitchhiking, especially with the boy.”

“Thank you, then,” she said. “I’ll wait and go with you.”

“I may be some time,” he began.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of work here,” she said as the slack-postured lunch girls filed back from the kitchen. “They’ve offered us lunch and then we can just wait for you in the lobby.” Several faces perked up as she said this and the Major had the horrible sensation of being caught making an assignation. He fled as fast as possible, determined to retrieve his golf bag and wait discreetly somewhere outside until Alec arrived.

“Ah, there you are,” said Alec. “Is there a reason you’re loitering in a hedge, and do you realize that ancient bag of yours rather gives the whole thing away?”

“I am not loitering,” said the Major. “I am simply indulging in a few moments of pastoral solitude—together with my very distinguished bag, which you covet and of which you therefore feel compelled to make fun.” They both looked at the bag, a well-oiled leather bag that had belonged to the Major’s father and that bore a small embossed leather patch from the Lahore Gymkhana Club. It reclined on a vintage wooden-wheeled carrier with a bamboo handle and was a source of some pride to the Major.

“I thought maybe you were trying to avoid the secretary. I hear he’s looking for you.”

“Why would he be looking for me?” said the Major as they set off toward the first tee.

“Probably wants to sort out about your son,” Alec said. “I hear there was some mix-up when he came in the other day?”

“My son?” asked the Major with surprise.

“Didn’t you know he was here?” asked Alec, his eyebrows stretching like two rabbits getting up from a nap.

“Well, yes, no, of course—I mean we talked about his taking out a membership,” said the Major.

“He stopped by on Sunday. I happened to be here. I think the secretary was just a little surprised. You hadn’t mentioned it to him and then …” Alec paused, fiddling with the heads of his clubs as he chose his driver. The Major detected a small discomfort in his face. “Well, look, Pettigrew, he’s your son, so perhaps you should have a word with him.”

“ What do you mean?” asked the Major. He felt a sensation in his stomach as if he were descending in a slow lift. “Was this last Sunday?” Roger had called to apologize for not visiting, but they had been tied up all day getting the widow Augerspier moved out of the cottage. They were too exhausted, he had said, to do anything but drive straight back to London.

“Yes, Sunday afternoon. The fact is, he seemed to think he could just sign something and be done,” said Alec. “Rather got the secretary’s back up, I’d say.”

“Oh, dear,” said the Major, sighting away down the fairway with his club. “I suppose I forgot to mention anything. I’ll have to smooth things over.”

“I think it got smoothed over,” said Alec. “Lord Dagenham’s niece, Gertrude, came in and it was all kissy-kissy and so on. Secretary seemed quite mollified.”

“That was very nice of her,” said the Major. “I mean, I hardly know the woman. I suppose my help with the dance is appreciated after all.”

“At the same time, you might want to mention to Roger that we don’t allow those newfangled club heads.”

“He brought clubs with him?” asked the Major, unable to hide the dismay in his voice.

“Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting to be able to play,” said Alec diplomatically. “Probably thought of running his kit by the pro, only since it was Sunday the pro shop was closed.”

“I’m sure that’s so,” said the Major, miserably wondering if there was a limit to Roger’s self-absorption. “I’ll have a chat with him.” He savaged his ball with a clout that sent it arcing high and into the rough on the right of the fairway.

“Oh, rotten luck,” said Alec and the Major wondered if he meant unlucky in golf or unlucky with offspring. Both, the Major felt, were accurate today.

Amina and George were not in the Grill when the Major finished his round. He made a halfhearted effort to look around the tables and thought he might be able to avoid all obligation with a quick dash through the lobby.