Author's starting note: While this takes place through the 1960s, it came to me recently when my great-aunt-who-isn't-mum's-aunt (who, at 88, is still doing shopping 'for the old folks' most of whom are rather younger than her) was telling me about the chap who'd taught her piano in the 1930s. He lived with his 'brother' who looked nothing like him, and, in her words, "We all knew they were a pair of fruits, but they'd have done anything for you, nobody would hear a word against them." I've said more about dating and my references at the end.

For those interested in such things, there is a 'podfic' (basically, a half-hour .MP3 audiobook) of this available on the IndeedSir community on LiveJournal. I don't think I can provide actual links here, so probably the easiest thing to do is visit the community and click on the 'podfic' tag.

Jeeves and the Niece Who Isn't.

My Uncle Bertie isn't my Uncle, and nor is my Uncle Jeeves, but they've always been my favourite uncles anyway. Uncle Bertie is actually a friend of Grandfather's, and, I know this will seem strange, but Uncle Jeeves is his manservant. Obviously, he's more than that. They've been together since before Mummy was born, and you couldn't spend that long living with someone in a flat – even a big posh one like Uncle Bertie's – if you didn't get on well. Besides, Uncle Bertie is too much of a chatterbox to spend all his time with someone who doesn't respond to him much, even if he does revert to being the silent and efficient servant whenever they have company.

Of course, being a child, I didn't count as company, and so I got to see that they were best friends, even if they were so different. It made me realise what utter bunk the whole class system was, and while I'm hardly about to give it all up and go live in a semi in Croydon, I've plenty of friends who aren't well-to-do. I'm rather proud of the fact that Lancashire has a couple of excellent doctors it wouldn't have if I'd not shoved a few notes under the cushions of a second-hand sofa I was helping them move. Psychology of the individual, I learned that from Uncle Jeeves. They wouldn't ever have accepted any money from me, but if they happened to find enough to cover the bills for a few more months, well that was different. I'm sure some of my friends got a bit suspicious of how often money turned up in odd places when I was around, but they never said anything.

They – my Uncles, not my friends – were uncle-who-isn't-an-uncle to Mummy because of Grandfather, and Daddy was always rather fond of them because Uncle Jeeves sorted out some mess he'd got himself into early in his political career. My brother Edward has never been as keen on them as I am. I remember one time I asked if he wanted to come and see them too he said Uncle Bertie was a weirdo, and Uncle Jeeves a stiff, but he never really gave them a chance. He's never had much time for anyone but his school friends, who then became business associates. He's never much liked London either, so obviously there's something wrong with him.

Whenever Daddy had work in London, I'd badger him to set off early and take me along so I could spend the day with my uncles. Uncle Bertie taught me to play the piano – though I quickly learned not to sing most of the songs he taught me anywhere adults could hear me – and his stories of his youth kept me enthralled for hours. Uncle Jeeves would let me help with the chores, and also gave me a grounding in literature and philosophy and made classics an easy choice for me when it came time to choose my degree. Anything I wasn't sure of, I could just pick up the phone and ask Uncle Jeeves. I was amazed when I found out he'd barely had a formal education at all, as I'm fairly sure he could have run rings around most of my professors.

Uncle Bertie bought me an E-type for my twenty-first, saying a single girl ought to have something a bit sportier than the old Austin I'd bought for myself, and that made it a lot easier to just pop down to London whenever I felt like it. I always take Uncle Bertie a little present, usually something that Uncle Jeeves will pretend to be upset about, so we have a little ritual of sorts. I'll leave whatever it is in my bag until Uncle Jeeves goes to get something in for dinner, then out it comes.

"Right!" Uncle Bertie said brightly, "He's gone. What delights have you got for me this time?"

"It's a record, Uncle," I grinned, "A friend took me to see this rather topping band in Liverpool, and I thought, this is just the sort of thing Uncle Bertie would love."

"Let's hear it, then."

I got it out, a song called 'I want to hold your hand' by a group called the Beatles.

"Oh, I say!" he said when it had finished. "That is a rather cheerful little ditty, isn't it? Play it again, I want to see if I can work out how to play it on the piano."

I started it again, and he spread his hands on the table, trying to work out the chords before he tried it for real.

"You know, I don't think even Jeeves could object to that," he said. "Perfectly innocent tune about holding hands with the one you love."

"Actually, Uncle, they're saying that it's not about that at all; that they're using it as a euphemism."

"Oh, well, they always want to say things are ruder than they are, don't they? No, you come here. Look." He beckoned me over to the window. "See, out there, young couples holding hands, just like they always have."

I smiled "Yes, I know, Uncle, but..."

"No buts. I'd give anything to be able to go for a turn about the park holding hands with the one I love." He sighed, and leaned against the window frame, still looking out at the couples in the square. "Even a chap of my advancing years gets the odd romantic notion into his head occasionally and wants to sing his love from the rooftops and such. Still, too old for all that now. I say, did I ever tell you about that Uncle of mine and his barmaid?"

"You did, but I never get tired of your stories, you know that."

"Well, never mind," he said, turning away from the window. "Let's see if I've got this song down right, shall we?"

When Uncle Jeeves came back, we were both singing merrily, sat together at the piano, and I'm sure I detected a hint of a smile on his face. He's always been somewhat inscrutable, but once you know him you get to be able to read the tiniest flicker of an eyebrow.

I kept taking Uncle Beatles records, and we even went to see them in concert once.

"You know," he told me afterwards, "It's good of you to let me come along with you. I don't suppose there's many girls your age would let an old duffer like me tag along with them. We shouldn't do it again, though."

"Whyever not?"

"Well... when I was buying our drinks... I'm not going to repeat his actual words, but there was someone who implied I didn't really like the music and wasn't really your Uncle."

"Well you're not really my Uncle."

"No, I know, but he meant to imply that, well... that I intend to conduct myself in an ungentlemanly manner."

I laughed and took his arm. "Let them think what they want, Uncle. They don't know you."

"Stop that, you'll make them think they were right. I won't have people thinking you're anything less than a lady."

"Oh, Uncle. You think I give a fig for what chaps like that think? It's just like you said before, there's always people who want to think things are less innocent than they are. I could be wearing a nun's habit instead of Quant, and someone would still think it."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right, but I don't like it. Still, best get back before Jeeves starts to worry."

"Oh!" I cried, noticing a rather fab tie-pin in a shop window. "Look at this. Don't you think it would suit you?"

"I have a tie-pin already."

"But look at this one, Uncle."

"I, uhm. This one means rather a lot to me, actually."

"It does?"

"Yes. It was a present from... well from someone who also means rather a lot to me."

"The someone whose hand you want to hold?" I asked, head still full of the Beatles.

"Yes, actually."

"Alright then. Gosh, it's getting chilly isn't it?"

"Well if you girls will wear those skirts. I've seen longer belts. I don't know how Jeeves manages to do the shopping without having a coronary nowadays."

"Got an eye for a girl with a nice pair of pins, has he?"

"Hardly! He's been horrified enough at some of the things I've wanted to wear, how he stands today's fashions I don't know."

"Times change, Uncle."

"Yes, I know. I'm sure Jeeves would rather they wouldn't."

The shock came a few months after that. They'd just been dealing with a rather long and tedious set of events up at Totleigh Towers, and as I'd ended up involved in the whole mess, I'd brought them back to save them getting the train. Uncle Bertie found motorways rather scary, which is why he no longer drove long distances. I kept to the back roads because of it and because the old Austin, while it had a bit more in the way of seats, wasn't really happy at speed. All in all it had been a rather long day, and I decided to have a nap on the sofa before heading home. My Uncles were equally tired, and so headed off to their rooms, trusting me to let myself out. I can't have been asleep long, but woke up hearing voices.

"You know the law as well as I do." I heard Jeeves saying. "While the young lady remains, we cannot."

"But she's heading off as soon as she wakes up," Uncle Bertie replied. "And she's hardly going to check you're all safely tucked in before she goes, is she?"

"Nevertheless, Sir, the law..."

"I know you're a cautious sort, but I'm sure the law has nothing much to say on the subject of getting some shut-eye, Jeeves. You know I never sleep well unless you're there, and I'm exhausted."

I had a sudden coughing fit, and then all was silent. After a few moments, I heard Jeeves again.

"Go back to bed, Sir. I shall come to you as soon as the young lady has departed."

I waited maybe twenty minutes with my heart in my throat, and then left.

How I got home safely I don't know, I barely remember the drive. How could I have not noticed something like that? It wasn't like I didn't know chaps who batted for the other team, but I found it fairly obvious that they did. Not necessarily anything about the way they acted – though there were a couple of chaps at university who were camp as a row of tents – but even so, you knew. Little things like not staring at your bum when you bent over. Uncle Jeeves and Uncle Bertie were both far too gentlemanly to ever do anything like that anyway, so I'd thought nothing of it.

They'd lived together for more than forty years, with one of them doing most of the chores and handling the finances, the other one being where the money came from. That would have added up to "married couple" if only Uncle Jeeves had been a woman instead of a servant. Of course, Edward had said once when he was angry that Uncle Bertie was probably that way inclined, but he's the sort who thinks there's something wrong with every man who doesn't play rugby. I was fairly sure it was the only insult he could think of to throw at someone as affable as Uncle Bertie.

I'd never dared bring any of my friends home just in case Edward was going to be there. A lot of my friends were just as opinionated as my brother, but in the other direction, and the arguments would have got very noisy, especially with some of the feminists. He'd had plenty to say about it when he found out that not all my friends were white, and I'd learned long ago to keep my mouth shut when he started on one of his misogynistic rants about the women he had to deal with at work. There was no convincing him, and I found it easier to tune him out than argue, because if I did he'd just get all the more objectionable. If he'd really thought that Uncle Bertie was homosexual, I'm sure he would have had rather more to say about it than he had.

It made me want to cry when I thought of how long my Uncles had been together and had to keep silent. I knew what law Uncle Jeeves had been talking about. While homosexual relationships had been legalised not long before, it was still illegal to do anything in hotel rooms, or if they weren't the only people in the house. There were still too many people like my brother, and like my mother who'd commented that she didn't see what difference it made because men without women to keep them in line were only interested in physical gratification, not love, and didn't form long-term relationships.

I'd told her I knew that wasn't true because Julian and Christopher lived together and had said that they'd have got married if they could – Julian had got very drunk on gin at Annabelle and David's engagement party, and started getting maudlin, so I'd taken him home before he could make a fool of himself, letting him have a good cry in the car instead – but she'd said they were probably both on the lookout for whatever they could find whenever they weren't together. Of course, she'd be polite if she met them, she was a lady, after all, but I didn't think Edward would.

I didn't know what to do. I'd been half asleep, at least until I'd started coughing, so now I thought about it I wasn't entirely sure they'd said what I thought they had. Even if they had, they'd not mentioned doing anything but sleeping, and I might be doing as Uncle Bertie often complained people did, and reading more into it than was there. Suddenly, it struck me. I'd taken friends with me when I went to see my uncles a couple of times before, so I'd arrange to take Julian and Christopher. They'd definitely know if anything more was going on, Julian had said that the moment he'd seen Christopher in a lecture he'd just known.

After a week or so I phoned up to see what Uncle Bertie thought and at first, he was all for it, as he'd always got on quite well with the friends I'd taken round.

"Just so you know," I said, "So you're not surprised by it I mean, you ought to know that they're a couple."

"Ah well that changes things, then." Uncle Bertie told me. "I'll not have their sort in my flat. Absolutely not."

"But Uncle, they've both read all your stories, they're just dying to meet you."

"I said no, and that's an end to it. What would the neighbours think?"

"They'll hardly be turning up wearing green carnations, Uncle."

"I dare say they won't, but people will know, you mark my words, and I dare say they're only interested in meeting me because they're the sort who go around saying Holmes and Watson were more friendly than was proper, and misreading things because they want to, never mind that Watson was a happily married man."

"So was Wilde," I pointed out.

"There you go, you see, they've got you at it too. It's just like I said, people are always ready to see the worst in a situation. If you really want me to meet them I'll come to your pile to say what-ho, but they're not coming here."

"You know I don't bring friends home, Uncle. Anyway, they live in London."

"Oh, so you won't have them under your roof, but you expect me to welcome them into my home? I'm sorry, my dear, but no."

"Right." I said, "Fine." As uncle says, I meant it to sting.

I couldn't stay angry at him long, though, so I went to visit again a few weeks later. Uncle Bertie was out when I got there, so Uncle Jeeves made me tea and sandwiches, and I settled on the sofa to wait.

After he'd drifted around a little straightening things which didn't need straightening, he spoke.

"Mr Wooster informed me of your telephone conversation, Miss. I am curious as to why you wished to bring those particular friends to visit."

"Well, I noticed one of Uncle Bertie's books last time I was at theirs, so I mentioned that I knew him, and they asked if I could get him to sign the book. I said I could probably do better than that. Apparently not, though."

"I hope you understand, Miss, that Mr Wooster is simply concerned, and does not harbour any ill-will towards the gentlemen in question?"

"It certainly sounded as though he did."

"Mr Wooster had recently been somewhat alarmed by a magazine article which claimed that his stories were of a subversive nature and that when he used the phrase 'One of nature's bachelors' he meant to inform his readers that he was himself homosexual. He commented at some length on the unhappy demeanour of the gentleman who had married the lady he portrayed as Honoria Glossop and that, had the individual who wrote the article met the lady, he would not have needed to look any further for an explanation for Mr Wooster's reluctance to marry her himself."

"Well, no, I know what you mean about her, but..."

"I simply ask you to think for a moment, Miss, what it would do to Mr Wooster if he were to find himself unwelcome in the houses he is currently accustomed to visiting – including yours – and subject to abuse in the street. While he need not fear Wilde's fate, he has seen masters Claude and Eustace so disgraced on equally flimsy evidence and so understands, rather better than I think you yourself do, how damaging such an accusation can be."

I nodded. "I'm sorry, Jeeves. All I saw was Uncle being closed-minded about my friends."

"It is understandable, Miss, when one's social group is as liberal as your own, that one forgets this is not the way the rest of society thinks. If I might suggest, however, the possibility of holding a dinner-party in your own home and inviting several of your friends, including the gentlemen in question and Mr Wooster, next time your brother is to be away?"

"I think you might have something there, Jeeves."

Of course, it didn't go that well. I decided, as it was high summer by then, that it would be better to have a picnic in the grounds. It would give people more chance to circulate a bit, for one thing, and it meant that Imran could bring some of the traditional snacks his mother prepared and have an excuse to start off a cricket match, that sort of thing. It went rather well. Uncle Bertie kept everyone entertained with his stories, and as my friends were mostly, as Uncle would have said, not of the noblesse, we even convinced Uncle Jeeves to sit down and join us and actually be a guest rather than hovering around making them all uncomfortable.

The fly in the ointment was that my brother came home unexpectedly. Apparently business had gone badly, and so while we were outside enjoying ourselves, he installed himself in the library and got roaringly drunk, then came out to join us. He was generally well-behaved, despite being drunk, and even joined in the cricket without calling Imran anything unpleasant, which surprised me, though I suppose the fact that he was a sporty sort himself, and not all that dark explains it.

The problems started when Edward was caught out, and ended up sat near Julian and Christopher. As I understand it they were holding hands, my brother noticed and started having a go at them. I don't know exactly what was said because I was out fielding at the time. Uncle Bertie was at bat, so I was concentrating on that, but I still saw that something was kicking off.

I called a halt to the game and ran over, intending to tell my brother where to go. He was standing over Julian, puffing himself up as though spoiling for a fight. Edward might be an oaf, but I'm fairly sure he isn't quite enough of a ruffian to use his fists against his own big sister, so I was intending to just get between them. As I got closer, Uncle Jeeves caught my eye and shook his head, so I slowed down a little and watched. I hadn't realised that Uncle Bertie had left the field until I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Let Jeeves deal with it," he murmured. Now, the thing people don't notice about Uncle Jeeves, what with him always floating around the place so unobtrusively is that he's almost six and a half feet tall, and not exactly slender. He's got a bit of middle-aged spread, but Uncle Bertie tells me he's always been an athletic sort and tries to keep his strength up. Edward, while he's one of those bulky neckless sorts, is nearer five ten.

"I don't see why I should pretend I'm something I'm not just because it makes you uncomfortable," Christopher snapped.

"Going round pretending to be men, you make me sick. You queers ought to just wear dresses and done with it," Edward retorted. Julian looked like he was about to burst into tears, but I could see that Christopher was quite prepared to defend himself. While I knew my brother said a lot of objectionable things, I'd not realised that, even while drunk, he could be like this to anyone. It made it all the clearer to me what Jeeves had meant when we'd spoken before. Christopher wouldn't have stood much chance if Edward did get violent.

"Do you recall, Sir," Uncle Jeeves said quietly, "When you were seven years old and I took you to a travelling fairground?"

"Of course I do, Jeeves. What's that to do with anything?" My brother asked, turning and giving my friends the chance to back off somewhat.

"You were most impressed, I believe, when at your insistence I took on the fair's boxing champion and won."

"Of course I was, Jeeves. You might be a bit of a stiff, but you certainly proved yourself there. None of my school friends knew anyone who could do anything like that. I'd not want to pick a fight with you, even now."

"In which case, Sir, I would urge you to consider the courage required by gentlemen who are not blessed with such a large frame but who nevertheless, understanding that gentlemen such as yourself may offer them physical violence for it, refuse to hide their natures."

"What?"

"I mean, Sir, that it requires considerable courage to admit to being homosexual. Offering violence to those weaker than oneself is the act of a coward and implies that you fear them."

"You're calling me a coward? How dare you, you're a bloody servant!"

"Actually, Sir, today I am your sister's invited guest, as are the gentlemen you were insulting. I suggest you apologise, not only to them for your ill-considered words, but to your sister for spoiling her day."

"I jolly well will not."

"Then I would suggest that Sir would benefit from some time spent cooling off." He reached out and picked my brother up like a wayward puppy, and walked towards the lake holding him as though he weighed nothing. Summer it might have been, but the lake was mostly shaded – better for fishing – and the water would be absolutely freezing.

"Alright, damnit, I'll apologise."

"I am afraid I do not believe the apology would be genuine," Uncle Jeeves said and let go, stepping back suddenly to avoid getting his shoes wet.

"God damnit," my brother spluttered as he climbed out, wearing a considerable amount of weed. Nobody could look threatening like that, so I laughed. We all did. "You'll pay for this suit."

Uncle Jeeves held out his hand without saying a word, and Uncle Bertie handed over his wallet.

"Worth every penny, old thing."

"Oh no," my brother said. "I want it out of his money, not yours."

"Oh, I often give him a few extra pennies on top of the usual stipend when he's outdone himself," Uncle Bertie said. "I'd say it's well worth it to see my favourite young lady laugh like that."

"You see how bloody funny you find it when father hears about this." My brother raged and stormed back to the house.

"I apologise if I overstepped the mark, Miss," Uncle Jeeves said.

I winced. "Frankly I think you showed remarkable restraint, Uncle. I'm dreadfully sorry," I told my friends. "I really didn't think he'd be here today."

"My father always said if we let bullies upset us, they have won," Imran said. "Let's get back to the game."

Everyone agreed, and though I was still rather upset, I ran back out to take up my position.

Uncle Bertie played an absolute blinder, and Jeeves was next in to bat and did even better, but I don't think anyone was trying that hard to get them out. It was only a friendly game and it's hardly fair to play to win against old men, after all, though I dare say Uncle Jeeves was in better shape than some of us. Once the game finished, we'd gone to have another bash at finishing off the picnic food when father came storming out of the house with a face like thunder.

"Oh hell," I said, "Here comes trouble."

I ran over to head him off before he could reach the group and cause any more upset.

"Edward tells me Jeeves threw him in the lake," he said, thankfully quietly enough that my friends couldn't hear. Father does have something of a tendency to boom, but he knows when to keep the volume down.

"Erm, yes, he did rather, but..."

"No buts. The child needed taking down a peg or two. Stank of booze, what was he up to?"

"He was having a go at Julian and Christopher."

"What, the shirtlifters?"

"I do wish you wouldn't say things like that, father."

"Well they are, aren't they? Anyway, you tell Jeeves he's done the right thing. Are your friends staying over?"

"I think so, yes."

"Right, well in that case I'll have the old grounds keeper's cottage aired out and made habitable for those two chaps. Old Rigsby used to live there and it used to get its own post when he was here, so I'm sure that counts as private for the purposes of the law. Should put your brother's nose even more out of joint."

"I... thank you, father."

"Can't say I like what they do, but I like it a lot better than the way your damn brother's been acting. I'm sure he'll be civil when he's sobered up. He'll get a bloody hiding if he's not, however old he is."

"Have I mentioned that I love you, Daddy?"

"Barely see anything of you nowadays. Still, be nice if you'd be home father's day weekend."

"Of course I will."

"You make sure you are."

Edward behaved himself at breakfast, and even apologised, though he did insist on blaming it on the drink. He moved out not long after because Daddy made it quite clear that while my friends were welcome, Edward's weren't. We didn't hear much from him for a while, until he'd managed to get himself arrested for fighting outside a pub in Manchester. Daddy refused to bail him out, and I don't know what happened because it's not something he'll talk about, but prison changed him. He moved back home and Daddy tells me he's been quite useful working for him these last few years. I still tend to keep out of his way.

I'll admit I was surprised at Daddy, but I've since found out that he'd actually been in favour of Lord Arran's bill. He told me recently that he'd hoped I'd go into politics and a lot of the arguments we had were nothing to do with his own views, he simply meant to get me used to defending my position. Not being much use as a public speaker, I've never stood for office myself, but I have been involved with a few activist groups, and done what I can to get more young people interested in politics.

My uncles never have actually 'come out' as they call it, and while Daddy had the cottage fully renovated and often put guests in there, my Uncles have never used it. I did offer it to them when it had just been finished, but Uncle Jeeves still insisted on taking servants' quarters. I never asked them if they were lovers, but the next time I visited, Uncle Bertie suggested I stayed over, and I suppose I got an answer.

"I have taken the liberty of preparing my own quarters for you, Miss" Uncle Jeeves said, raising his eyebrow slightly as though daring me to say anything, "As I believe Mr Wooster and I are now of an age where we should take any suggestion that we are sharing a bed for immoral purposes more as a compliment towards our perceived youthfulness than as a slight upon our characters. I hope you agree that it would be a greater impropriety to deny a visiting lady the privacy of a bedroom."

Uncle Jeeves' room was obviously used, but I suspect more as somewhere to keep his books and clothes than anything else, as I'm sure the bed hadn't been slept in for some time. It might not have been an outright admission, and I still think that it would have done a lot of good for them to be more open, but it was good enough for me and I do understand why they haven't.

One last thing I think is worth mentioning though. Uncle Bertie's developed pretty bad arthritis, and while he gets about fairly well in the flat, he always uses a cane when he goes out. If he has to go any distance, Uncle Jeeves goes with him in case he needs a bit of support. I was having lunch with a friend in Regents' Park a few weeks ago, a particularly daffy sort who always makes me think of Madeline Bassett, but with all possible tact removed. There's not a hint of malice in her, but she can generally be relied upon to say the most excruciatingly embarrassing thing at exactly the wrong time.

"Aww, isn't it adorable when old people are still so obviously in love?" she said suddenly. I looked around, but I realised there was only one old couple not arguing, and that was my uncles, heading our way through Queen Mary's gardens. I'd not seen them before as I'd been focused on my lunch and I dare say what with the big floppy hat I was wearing, they'd not seen me. Uncle Bertie was leaning his shoulder against Uncle Jeeves' arm and clutching his hand to keep himself upright. I'm fairly sure his arthritis only really bothers him if it's cold and wet, but apparently he's not above hamming it up a bit to get his wish. He looked more pleased with himself than in pain, certainly.

"I think you're reading too much into it," I said, "It looks like the skinny one is just having a bit of trouble walking."

"No, look closer," she said. She might have the brains of a soft toy, but she's got eyes like a hawk. "They've even got matching tie pins."

While the world of Jeeves and Wooster has always been somewhat timeless, the last novel being published in 1974, for this I needed time to have actually passed for them. Assuming Bertie was 22 when the Jeeves stories began - the first proper one being published in 1919 gives him a date of birth of 1897 - then in 1963, when the Beatles released I Want To Hold Your Hand, he would have been 66. Jeeves I always see as a little older, so we'll say he was 68. You can read more about the 1967 Sexual Offences Act, which is the law I referred to, on Wikipedia. The wikipedia article 'LGBT rights in the United Kingdom' also mentions that there were several high-profile prosecutions in the 1950s, which our chaps would have been well aware of, so this should make their secrecy more understandable to a modern reader.

The unnamed narrator is the grand-daughter of an unspecified friend of Bertie's, and trying to keep things straight, I've set her as being born in 1942, which would make her 21 in '63. Assuming her mother had her at 19, the age my granny had my Mum, this puts Mummy's birth in 1923, meaning the unspecified friend would have likely got married in '22 at the latest. This may be pushing things slightly, but that's why I didn't specify which friend it was. I also intended the comment about Honoria Glossop to imply that Bertie doesn't use people's real names when writing about them, possibly that he has simply created characters and plots based on real people and events but not entirely mirroring them, which would mean that such dates are less meaningful.

I also referred to Lord Arran, who originally raised the bill in the House of Lords in 1965, rather than Humphrey Berkley who raised it in the Commons, or Leo Abse, who eventually saw the bill passed, as I thought it more likely that 'Daddy' would have been a peer than an elected representative.

I'd put the end of the piece somewhere in the early 1970s, so they would have been in their mid to late 70s which I think fits. It wasn't until as recently as 2004 that the law changed in any truly meaningful manner, so sadly they wouldn't have lived to see it.