“Yes, I stopped in Chertsey, at the Whistling Pig. My son recommended the food there. It was quite good.”
“I see. Well, may I offer you a sherry?”
“Delighted.”
I went to the small table that held a tray, decanter, and glasses, and poured him a glass. After giving it a moment’s thought, I poured one for myself. “To your health, sir.”
“Thank you. And to yours also.” We sipped the sherry. “Did your uncle put this up?”
“Yes. Sir Eustace brought home a number of bottles after one of his wine buying trips to the Continent.”
“I will say this for the man,” Mr Stephenson said grudgingly. “He did know his wines.”
“Indeed.”
He finished his sherry and nodded agreement when I held up the decanter.
I recalled his mention of Geo recommending the Whistling Pig. “I’m sorry to tell you that you mis
