The firm of classic car dealers, LH Classics, to which the Ferrari had been consigned, was, to anyone investigating, owned by a Panama company, with nominee directors. A money-laundering front – and a method of importing drugs – which he had successfully used for several years. No way could the police connect it to him. He’d doled out enough cash to his international lawyers to ensure that. Just like the Chinese takeaway below his office and the twenty others around Sussex, who were laundering drugs cash. All of their proprietors had big gambling habits, spending thousands weekly at the local casinos and never raising any suspicion. The Chinese community was well known for being big gamblers. No one had ever suspected it was mostly his money they were playing with. Oh yes, he had been so clever, so many tentacles to his business!

Barbara suddenly pointed at the screen where a BMW was being dismantled. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘Smuggling drugs hidden in a car, a bit like that Ferrari that was just in the news.’

‘Yes, that was quite a bust at Newhaven; I don’t imagine that was just somebody operating on his own. There’s bound to be a Mr Big behind it,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I hope he gets bloody nailed,’ she said, vehemently. ‘You know my views on drugs, my love. And how much it upsets me when you get some dealer off who you’re pretty sure is guilty. Any drug dealer who uses kids should be lined up against a wall.’

‘I agree,’ he said quietly.

‘What’s up, Terry?’ Barbara asked suddenly. ‘Please tell me. You’ve not been yourself for days now.’

Endeavour was over, the credits rolling. He looked at her. ‘I’m fine.’

‘How did it go at the doctor’s today? You’ve not said.’

‘Yes. All good. He said I’ve got the heart of an ox.’

Terence Gready’s mum and dad had been greengrocers in South London. His dad, Godfrey, had been a meek man, short and with a permanently sad, brow-beaten expression, as if the world bewildered him. Gready had memories of him up at the crack of dawn, and later, outside in all weathers, croaking out the prices of his wares: Bananas half price today! Special offer on greengages!

His dad had his dreams and his plan. To sell up at sixty and buy a place in Spain’s Costa del Sol, whilst the two of them were still young enough to make the move and enjoy their life. Their flat above the shop was always littered with brochures about Spanish properties. Often his dad would hold up one of the brochures, with a sunny villa or condominium on the front cover, and say to Terence, ‘Always have your dream, lad, and make sure you get to live it. Pity the man who dies with all his dreams still inside him.’