‘Millar only served for a few years; he’s gone soft.’

Philip puffed on a £40 Arturo Fuente Opus X cigar. He kept a box of Gurkha Black Dragons at the club for special occasions only; today wasn’t one of those. He glanced at the Colonel, who looked green.

‘Good God, man, cut down on the Malbec, will you? You’re no use to me when you’re a gibbering piece of jelly. Sort yourself out.’

‘Yes, Philip. I wanted to thank you for the lawyers. Both those rape charges have been dropped.’

‘Marvellous.’

Philip contemplated the Colonel. He knew that if push came to shove, Slater would squeal like a girl should he be caught red-handed, but Benji would go to his grave with his secrets. And that was exactly what he was relying on. He needed a slick operation. A pool of reliable people, like the one who’d taken care of Professor Cooper: speedy, sanitary and meticulous. He’d already prepared the necessary documents to entrap Slater, who wouldn’t work for DEFRA for much longer, that was for sure. Benji was a more personal attachment, like one of his dogs.

‘It’s fantastic up here, Philip.’

Philip looked beyond the balcony and wondered what his friend was referring to. The London skyline was unimpressive from this side of the city, and little could be made out apart from rooftops and the honks of traffic. Perhaps he meant the whiff of luxury coming up from the streets of Mayfair, somewhere he could never envisage gracing as a mere colonel. He might expect the odd invitation to a reunion at the Cavalry and Guards Club, but that was about it.

‘Do me a favour, old chap.’ Benji always talked like the public schoolboy he was.

‘What’s that?’

‘Look after my family.’

‘Now, now, we’ll have none of that talk, Benji. Go and sleep it off; some of us have work to do. Don’t let the bastards grind you down, old man. There’s always a solution. Get your man up north to see if he can find the journalist, sort out Cyprus, and then we’re all done. I’ll make sure the detective doesn’t get too close.’

The Colonel tottered drunkenly towards the balcony door. He swayed past Christopher Slater, who rolled his eyes again, and out into the hallway, where he made his way towards his room. Philip came back in.

‘Fucking liability. I always said that, Philip.’

‘All right, Christopher, calm down, you’ll give yourself a nose bleed. Will you ask your damned contact to find out something personal about this detective? Let me down and I’ll know it was lack of effort, do you understand? Meanwhile, I’ll sort the solicitors.’

‘Of course, Philip. I’ll see you tomorrow.’