Assistant Director had overplayed the nineteenth hole, having found a most congenial companion while celebrating a decent round in which golfing gods had beamed upon his errant swing. Golf, that implacable destroyer of hubris, had allowed unforgettable glimpses of eagle while bestowing two birdies on his card. It was then admired by an athletic member who breathed culture in a delightfully unassuming fashion.
Guthrie, an elegant forty-something-year-old with merchant banking in The City, had now come into his title and immediately ceased to belong to the common herd. His highland estate, however, leaving aside a well stocked grouse moor, offered some possibilities for timber. Discussion roamed freely and the landowning gentleman had condescended to seek Assistant Director opinions on various topics. Conversation was lively, emphasised by vintage cognac, and the internationally famous golfing pro joined the peer in offering encouragement on a promising round.
Assistant Director was flattered by these attentions and the deprecation of privilege shown by the new viscount whose informal conversational style encouraged an uninhibited response. The ease of Eton permeated the peer without a hint of noblesse oblige.
As early evening arrived, a mellow Assistant Director gave a reluctant farewell to the hereditary peer and, trusting that the driver would boast the long hire, accepted the Club Secretary’s suggestion of a private cab.
“Break par today, sir?” the driver inquired, impressed by the distance of travel and entering into his golf club pick-up routine with a professional smile.
“Went round in 80,” and Assistant Director broke his rule not to engage in any conversation with a taxi driver.
“Takes me nine holes to do that,” the driver said.
Assistant Director hazed into reverie. Rather hit it off with Guthrie, who was now Viscount of…? Forgot his damn title already. Excellent brandy. Heritage, wasn’t it? Didn’t catch the year. Odd how in their divisions of the peerage, Scottish viscounts were ‘of’ somewhere – the English lot had dropped the archaic ‘of’. One would have imagined it would be the other way around. I enjoy the top table…they do themselves particularly well, he thought.
It had been altogether a very pleasant day.