I climbed into the passenger seat. ‘I missed that,’ I said. ‘Do they show the matches out here, then?’

‘If only, old chap, if only. I caught the report on the World Service. Who’s your money on to win the whole thing?’

‘I haven’t really followed it, I’m afraid.’

He grunted and locked his door, gesturing for me to do the same. When I had, he said: ‘You’re Larry Dark’s boy, aren’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Fine fellow, your father. Never met him myself, but saw him break the land speed record in ’38. Extraordinary day - were you there?’

I shook my head dully.

‘Damn fine fellow.’ He placed his key in the ignition and started her up. ‘Anyway, glad you made it. Imagine you’ll be wanting to get that suit off in this heat.’

He gestured at the back seat, on which an outfit identical to the one he was wearing lay folded.

‘Pyjama party at the Yacht Club - any excuse for a booze-up.’

I told him I was fine as I was.

We turned onto the main road and he swore under his breath. ‘Not our night. Bad go-slow.’ He caught my look. ‘Traffic jam in the local argot. Marjorie will be furious - she was expecting me hours ago.’

‘Marjorie?’

‘The wife. Super girl. Don’t deserve her, really. Fine stock - Scottish blue blood, you know. Stuck with me through thick and thin.’ He mimed swigging a glass and winked conspira torially at me.

Pritchard had said things were a little haphazard, but I hadn’t imagined they’d be this dire. I’d seen plenty of Manning’s type before. He was a spook of the old school: stockbroker parents, minor public school, army, Colonial Service. Most of them had been swept away in ’66 when the Service had taken over responsibility for the colonies from Five, but Manning had evidently managed to hold on.

I wound down the window and looked out. There was indeed a go-slow. The street was a mass of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and bikes, the drivers of which were all either tooting their horns or yelling at the drivers around them. Many of the vehicles looked on the verge of collapse, either because they were overloaded with passengers and luggage or were missing vital parts: windows, wing mirrors, bumpers . . . The Opel Kapitän alongside us was short a door on the passenger side. Looming over the scene was an enormous billboard with a picture of a tyre: ‘GO BY DUNLOP - THEY LAST LONGEST!’ It seemed a little like trying to sell sticking plasters on a battlefield.

As Manning searched for an opening in the traffic, I considered once again his presence at the airport. I prided myself on my ability to think several steps ahead, but it had taken me totally unawares - I hadn’t imagined my colleagues would be anxious enough to want me on a leash for just one night.