Partial - partial to the odd chop, don't you know. And useful for insomnia, eh, eh?'

'Countin' them jumping over a fence, you mean? Even that doesn't work with me. They always refuse to jump. Not that I'm often troubled by sleeplessness. Clear conscience, I suppose. How many thousand you got?'

The nearest thing so far to animation or surprise came over Sebastian's face. 'How - how - how many thousands?'

'Just roughly.'

'Oh.' He stared at his sherry glass. 'Don't know, really.'

'But you must count your stock sometimes.'

'Count? No. I get statements from the bank and my jolly old accountant keeps tabs on my position.'

Lord Burford's eye bulged. 'Your accountant counts your sheep for you?'

Sebastian blinked. 'Oh, no. Thought you meant money. I don't own any sheep.'

You don't? You mean you ain't a sheep farmer?'

'Oh, no. Not at all. Never. Sorry.' He smiled.

'Great Scott! I could have sworn . . .' He turned and raised his voice a little. 'Lavinia, you said Sebastian here was a sheep farmer. He's nothin' of the sort.'

Cecily said gently, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I should have explained. It was Philip, my first husband, who was the sheep farmer. He died many years ago. Sebastian's not even an Australian. He was just visiting when we met. But then he decided to stay on.'

The entry of Gerry at that moment caused a welcome diversion. After introductions she said, 'Well, I suppose you know all about our expected VIP guest?'

'No, dear,' Cecily said. 'Who's that?'

'The great Rex Ransom, no less.'

'The film star? Really? How exciting. Did you hear that, Sebastian?'

'Oh, rather. Jolly good.