He tilted his head a little. ‘No? With your old Chief gone, I think you will see some changes. These men have a lot of ambition, Paul. That is why Henry thought of the coup: he felt it would be less dangerous in the long term to let them into the open, with the illusion of victory, than to continue their games behind the scenes. The plan was for him to control them from the inside - and in doing so slowly immobilize them.’

‘Hell of a risky plan.’

He shrugged: he could wear as much tweed as he wanted, but his shrugs were more Russian than vodka. ‘I think it was well calculated. Britain would have been in a state of shock - look at what happened with the Americans - and a traumatized enemy would have suited us well. But, as you say, the coup failed. And Henry is dead. The faction is in a more powerful position than ever, however: far from being under suspicion for the attempt on the Prime Minister’s life, they have used it to call for more financial support, which I think they will receive. They have a hold of the reins, and we need a way to control them.’

‘Did I mention that they offered me Deputy Chief?’ I said. ‘Same as Pritchard would have got - isn’t that funny?’

Sasha swallowed his peanuts. Very slowly, he let out a wide, car salesman’s beam. Then there was the faintest quiver in his lower lip.

‘You accepted, naturally.’

‘I told you,’ I said. ‘I’m retiring.’

His face froze for a moment, but almost at once he decided I was joking. ‘You can’t retire! You are finally coming to fruition!’

I didn’t like it - being talked about as though I were a wine.

‘I’m going to teach English at a prep school in Berkshire,’ I said. ‘Read Bulldog Drummond to the boys before lights out and learn to smoke a pipe.’

He gazed at me with puzzlement. ‘I’ve lived here nearly twenty years and I still don’t understand your sense of humour,’ he said. And then he reached inside his coat and took out a slim leather wallet, from which he removed a group of postage stamps. He placed them on the table, taking care to hold the corners down with the tips of his fingers. ‘But just in case you have misunderstood the situation . . .’ he said, inviting me to lean across for a closer look. As I did, I realized that they weren’t stamps, but negatives. He held one up to the bulb for me, but I could already see what it was.

I had been wrong. He could still scare me.