In their Wisdom by C.P. Snow

On the Wednesday following Jenny's marriage, which was the day before the appeal, Dr Pemberton (he intended to keep that name on his doctor's plate) was sitting on the Government backbenches in the House of Lords. This was the second afternoon he had attended, and he was viewing proceedings with a not unfamiliar blend of grievance and inspissated scorn. Grievance because he had expected the previous day, when he took his seat, to be something of a show, with himself on stage. Not a bit of it. He had signed the book at the table, walked up to the Woolsack, presented the writ which, with office efficiency and without comment, had duly arrived, and shaken hands. No one had noticed. No one appeared to enquire who was the very large man, black haired, pale faced, who had gone to sit beside complete strangers while a peer proceeded to ask the first question of the afternoon.

This next day, he was giving the place another chance. The only record of his entry was inscribed on a leaf of green paper which he had picked up in the lobby. Minutes of the day before. Date in Latin. Die Martis 5e Decembris 1972. Mummery, thought Pemberton. Prayers read by the Bishop of Chichester. Next line – The Earl of Hillmorton Sat First in Parliament after the death of his kinsman.