A reputation for making waves was not always desirable in Whitehall, despite ritual worship at the altar of change, but it was good enough for Charles. He was aware that during his own tenure he had ignored various structural and administrative issues that others thought were important. For him, they were secondary to delivering the goods and, so long as the Office delivered – in terms of intelligence produced – he preferred not to think about them. Whitehall, he suspected, thought it time for a new broom. Avoiding unpalatable tasks was one of his weaknesses, he knew.

Now, at the reception, it was refreshing to find a friendly, if somewhat solemn, Daniel, not at all the potential extremist who worried MI5. ‘We had a lovely chat with Akela,’ said Sarah. ‘She’s charming.’

‘Thank you. I’m sure she will be a very good Muslim wife, thanks be to Allah, peace and blessings be upon him.’

There was no trace of irony in his round freckled face. Hard though it was for the habitually secular to take religious avowals seriously, it was a welcome change from the sullen hostility of Daniel’s pre-conversion youth.

‘And we chatted to Anya, her sister, too,’ said Sarah. ‘She seemed very nice, quite a live wire.’

Daniel nodded. ‘But less devout than Akela. You’ve seen I’ve changed my name. I have a Muslim name now.’ He relieved his solemnity with a smile. ‘I’m surprised – grateful – you could come. I didn’t think you would, given Charles’s job.’

‘No reason why not,’ said Charles. ‘None at all.’

‘You know I’m a carpenter now? Really enjoying it.’

‘Good religious precedent.’ Charles regretted his flippancy as soon as he said it.

Daniel had to think. ‘Of course, the prophet Jesus. He’s only a prophet in Islam. But an important one.’

‘As in Judaism.’

Daniel’s smile had gone now. ‘The Jews – they’re another matter. Them and the Americans.’ He looked down, shaking his head.

‘Your new family, your in-laws, seem very friendly and sociable,’ said Sarah.

‘They’re not as observant as Akela but that’s all right, we can cope. We will lead the simple lives of good Muslims.’

Charles’s phone vibrated again. ‘Excuse me a moment. Work. I’m on call.’ He walked back across the lawn towards the rhododendrons. The call was one he had been expecting, from Gareth Horley. ‘How did it go?’

‘Couldn’t be better. The crown jewels.’ Gareth spoke slowly and quietly, unusually for him. It emphasised both his Welsh accent and his excitement. ‘We’ve got them, the crown jewels. One of them, anyway.’

‘Where are you?’

‘About to leave Heathrow. Should be at Hyde Park in about half an hour. Are you coming?’