“You wouldn’t be able to give me a telephone number, would you?”

Dan heard Nick let out a long sigh. “Well, you’ll have to hang on a minute. The catalogue is downstairs somewhere.”

“Okay. Sorry about this.”

The LCD readout on Dan’s portable telephone registered a further three minutes before Nick came back on the line. “Right. Are you ready for this?”

“Fire away,” Dan replied, hovering his pencil over Nina’s exercise book.

“Telephone number is 01397 890000 and fax is 01397 890110. There doesn’t appear to be an e-mail number.”

“No, that’s fine. Many thanks, Nick.”

“Okay. Can I return to the peace of my Sunday evening routine now?”

“Of course you can, my son. With my blessing.”

Dan didn’t even bother to hang up the receiver. He pressed the button to disconnect the line and then immediately dialed the number that Nick had given him. He just planned to leave a message on the Ansaphone and get them to send off a catalogue to him. He never imagined for one moment that, on a Sunday night, his call would be answered.

“Hullo?” It was a woman’s voice, shrill and questioning, and it gave Dan the immediate impression that his telephone call was not particularly welcome. In the background, there seemed to be a steady, rhythmic thrumming that was loud enough to make Dan hold the receiver an inch or two away from his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Dan said. “I’m not sure if I’ve got the right number. I was trying to get hold of a company called Vagabonds.”

“What?” the voice shouted. It was then that Dan realized that her shrill tone was probably only a consequence of the background noise.

“Vagabonds. Is that Vagabonds?” Dan asked distinctly.

“Yes. Sorry. I should have said that, shouldn’t I? It’s just that we’re a bit hectic here.”

“Well, I was expecting to talk to an Ansaphone. I didn’t think that anyone would be working on a Sunday night.”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I’m afraid that I’m in the workshop and all the machines are going.”

Dan decided then that it wasn’t going to be worth asking for a catalogue. Better all round if he called back in the morning. On the other hand, he couldn’t just hang up.

“Am I talking to Katie Trenchard?” Dan asked, stepping up the volume of his voice.

“Yes. Who’s that?”

“You don’t know me, but my name is Dan Porter. I live in London.”

“Yes. Excuse me, can you hold the line for a moment, please?” Dan heard a muted question being asked and the woman replying, “No, just finish off the XLs tonight. We can put out the Ls tomorrow evening.” She returned to the receiver. “I’m sorry. How can I help you?”

“Right, well, I’ve just read this article about you in a magazine.”