Sir Leonard was waiting for me inside the door at his club, signing the register before we were escorted to the table in the bow window on the ground floor, the one looking out onto St James’s Street. It was considered to be the most distinguished position within this centuries-old institution and one only bestowed on its most highly regarded members within this exclusive gentleman’s club.
Never before had it crossed my mind why Boodles was our choice of club and not here, but, for one of those ‘I don’t know how it happened’ moments, it troubled me and, more particularly, it troubled the social side of my psyche.
As we walked the short distance to the table, he could not stop himself from apologising for being unaware I had unpleasant history with Charles Oswald Wallace. He suggested he
