A Murder of Quality by John le Carré

his garden. He had scandalised the tailors of Carne, whose frosted windows carried the insignia of royal households, by having buttonholes let into his gown. These he would fill according to his mood with anything from hibernia to bluebells. This evening he wore a rose, and from its freshness Smiley deduced that he had this minute put it into place, having ordered it specially.
    ‘Sherry wine or Madeira?’
    ‘Thank you; a glass of sherry.’
    ‘Tart’s drink, Madeira,’ Fielding called, as he poured from a decanter, ‘but boys like it. Perhaps that’s why. They’re frightful flirts.’ He handed Smiley a glass and added, with a dramatic modification of his voice:
    ‘We’re all rather subdued at the moment by this dreadful business. We’ve never had anything quite like it, you know. Have you seen the evening papers?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t. But the Sawley Arms is packed with journalists of course.’
    ‘They’ve really gone to town. They’ve got the Army out in Hampshire, playing about with mine-detectors. God knows what they expect to find.’
    ‘How have the boys taken it?’
    ‘They adore it! My own house has been particularly fortunate, of course, because the Rodes were dining here that night. Some oaf from the police even wanted to question one of my boys.’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Smiley innocently. ‘What on earth about?’
    ‘Oh, God knows,’ Fielding replied abruptly, and then, changing the subject, he asked, ‘You knew my brother well, didn’t you? He talked about you, you know.’
    ‘Yes, I knew Adrian very well. We were close friends.’
    ‘In the war, too?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Were you in his crowd, then?’
    ‘What crowd?’
    ‘Steed-Asprey, Jebedee. All those people.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I never really heard how he died. Did you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘We didn’t see much of one another in later years, Adrian and I. Being a fraud, I can’t afford to be seen beside the genuine article,’ Fielding declared, with something of his earlier panache. Smiley was spared the embarrassment of a reply by a quiet knock at the door, and a tall red-haired boy came timidly into the room.
    ‘I’ve called the Adsum, sir, if you’re ready, sir.’
    ‘Damn,’ said Fielding, emptying his glass. ‘Prayers.’ He turned to Smiley.
    ‘Meet Perkins, my head prefect. Musical genius, but a problem in the schoolroom. That right, Tim? Stay here or come as you like. It only lasts ten minutes.’
    ‘Rather less tonight, sir,’ said Perkins. ‘It’s the Nunc Dimittis.’
    ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Fielding declared, tugging briefly at his bib, as he led Smiley at a spanking pace out into the corridor and across the hall, with Perkins stalking along behind them. Fielding was speaking all the time without bothering to turn his head:
    ‘I’m glad you’ve chosen this evening to come. I never entertain on Fridays as a rule because everyone else does, though none of us quite knows what to do about entertaining at the moment. Felix D’Arcy will be coming tonight, but that’s hardly entertaining. D’Arcy’s a professional. Incidentally, we normally dress in the evening, but it doesn’t matter.’
    Smiley’s heart sank. They turned a corner and entered another corridor.
    ‘We have prayers at all hours here. The Master’s revived the seven Day Hours for the Offices: Prime, Terce, Sext and so on. A surfeit during the Half, abstinence during the holidays, that’s the system, like games. Useful in the house for roll-calls, too.’ He led the way down yet another corridor, flung open a double door at the end of it and marched straight into the dining-room, his gown filling gracefully behind him. The boys were waiting for him.
    ‘More sherry? What did you think of prayers? They sing quite nicely, don’t they? One or two good tenors. We tried some plainsong last Half; quite good, really quite good. D’Arcy will be here soon. He’s a frightful toad. Looks like a Sickert model fifty years after –