‘Just wanted to update you on Gareth,’ he had said, introducing himself by his first name only. ‘He’s back from his travels but unfortunately he seems to have brought back some pretty nasty disease with him, something he must have picked up. He’s having tests for tropical diseases but asked me to let you know, to send his very best wishes and to say that he looks forward to resuming your lunches soon.’

There was the slightest hesitation before Timber Wolf expressed conventional considerations and concern, adding, ‘This is indeed unfortunate. I was hoping he would have time for another lunch before the talks I am involved in resume next week. After that it will be much busier and I may find it difficult to meet.’

‘No chance, I’m afraid. He’ll be out of action for some weeks at least. But if you’re genuinely at a loose end meanwhile, I’m in Brussels for a Monday-morning meeting and might be able to get away in time for lunch.’

There was another slight pause. ‘If you are able to do that it would be very nice to see you, Charles. Perhaps I can give you a little present to take back to Gareth.’

Simon read through the bullet points again, slowly. ‘There’s a copy for you.’ He pushed a plain sheet of A4 paper along the polished cabinet table. The list was double-spaced, with no heading and no security classification.

‘It’s very important that the message he takes away is exactly that wording,’ said the foreign secretary. ‘Not the easiest thing to convey naturally between mouthfuls, unless your conversations are usually abbreviations.’

‘Oscar kilo.’

Chapter Eleven

The following morning, Saturday, there was a knock on the door in Cowley Street a little after eight. Sarah was in the bathroom and Charles was dressed and getting breakfast. He approached the door teapot in hand, remembering just in time to look through the spyhole. He remembered, too, that the security inspection of their house – now mandatory for anyone in his position – had recommended the fitting at public expense of a reinforced door, steel bars on the windows, extra locks and a CCTV camera outside. It was another bit of admin he had done nothing about. The spyhole was there when they bought the house.

It showed Anya, Daniel’s sister-in-law, wearing jeans and a padded jacket and holding a bicycle. She was gushingly apologetic. ‘I am so sorry, Sir Thoroughgood—’

‘Charles.’

‘Sir Charles—’

‘Not sir at all, I’m not one, just Charles. Come in. Have you had breakfast?’

‘Thank you, yes, I don’t want to intrude, really I don’t need any breakfast. It’s just that I have a message from my sister which she didn’t want to trust to the telephone.’

‘Please come in, you can chain your bike to the railings.’

‘It’s not my bike and I’ve forgotten the chain.’

‘Bring it into the hall, then.’