Alexander Shuttleworth leaned back in the easy chair and drummed his fingers rhythmically on his stomach. 'You may call it cake,' he told his small audience, regarding the small saucer with the last few crumbs that sat on his lap, 'but it goes beyond cake. Call it Ultrasponge, Victoria Maximus, empress of icing sugar.' The ladies of Joan Redfern's WI group looked at him and then at each other nervously. A few giggled or laughed in a more civilised fashion. Alexander felt as if he was addressing a flock of sheep in hatpins. 'Well, Mr. Shuttleworth,' Joan began, replacing her own plate delicately on the table, 'may we move.
