‘And what do you think he has in mind, Richard?’

‘I have no idea. The war’s over, after all.’

‘So we can always say no.’

Richard Prince looked at his wife as if she was being naïve. ‘I suppose we can,’ he said in a resigned manner, ‘in theory.’

Tom Gilbey couldn’t have been more charming. His manner was effortless and he came across as utterly sincere as he greeted Prince and Hanne like they were his own children returning after a lengthy absence.

In turn, they thanked him profusely for the Royal Doulton dinner service he’d given them as a wedding gift, and Gilbey responded that it was the least he could do, but perhaps best not let young Henry play with it, and the three of them laughed, which went some way to relieving the tension not too far below the surface. Gilbey dutifully asked how Henry was, and Hanne said he was very sweet and she was pleased they’d decided to keep his nanny on as he needed continuity in his life, and he then asked how she was, and she replied that she was much better, thank you.

‘Probably not my business, Hanne, but now you’ve married an English police officer, what do you intend to do?’

Prince bridled. It was indeed none of Gilbey’s business, but he’d managed to ask the question in a charming way, and Hanne said something about getting to know her new husband and his son, and that after more than two years in a concentration camp she didn’t want to rush into anything, and Gilbey said of course, of course in an almost apologetic manner.

There was a period of silence as a tray of tea was brought in and Gilbey somewhat awkwardly poured it out. ‘And you, Richard: enjoying being back on the beat?’

‘I’m hardly on the beat, sir. There’s some talk that I may be promoted to chief superintendent next year. I may get the Lincoln division if the wind’s in the right direction.’

Gilbey said jolly good and passed round a plate of biscuits. ‘I have a job for you two, if you’re interested.’

Hanne smiled politely and looked at her husband, who remained impassive. Gilbey coughed nervously, and when he spoke again, it was in a louder voice, as if making an effort to sound confident.

‘It would require you going to Germany, for a week or two at the most. The brief is to find a German fugitive who’s wanted for murdering British agents and others in France and Holland.’

He paused and looked at them with raised eyebrows as if expecting an answer.

‘I think you may need to tell us more, sir.’

‘I was about to, Prince. Hanne, excuse me if you are already aware of this, but there is an organisation called the Special Operations Executive, or SOE. It grew out of MI6 – our overseas intelligence service – with a brief to conduct espionage and coordinate resistance in Nazi-occupied Europe. It’s been a remarkably successful organisation: mixed results in some countries, outstanding in others. It sent many hundreds of agents into Europe, and now it’s being wound up, but not before it accounts for all those who’ve gone missing. It is regarded as a matter of honour that we find out what happened to all our agents and where necessary mete out justice to the people who either betrayed them or harmed them. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a biscuit?’