The room overlooking the lawn had been converted into a complimentary gin bar. Its leather sofas and heavy oak tables had been moved aside and the staff were wearing glittered leotards and feathered headdresses. Harry searched for a familiar face, knowing he was unlikely to find one. He wasn’t attached to this base. He’d been invited to attend the ball by Commodore Chris Waite who wanted to sound him out about a job. Harry had no intention of accepting – he didn’t want to move back to Plymouth – but it was never a good idea to refuse a courtship flat out. You had to play the game; people in the military had long memories and perhaps he’d be back here one day. But, for now, he needed to be in London and close to his children. He’d missed so much when they were young, and if he didn’t take jobs stationed near his ex-wife now, he’d never see them at all.

He nodded to a young lieutenant whose girlfriend was wearing an off-the-shoulder peach dress decorated with diamanté. The dress code had been clear: ankle-length dresses, covered shoulders and minimal bling. No doubt there’d be a coven of military wives discussing the young woman’s decision by the end of the evening.

‘Lovely dress,’ Harry said. He thought he’d put in a good word now, just in case she overheard something different later on. She blushed and thanked him with a delighted giggle.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ her boyfriend said.

Harry patted the man’s shoulder.

The thin man continued to pace up and down outside the officer’s wardroom. It wasn’t time yet. But he could hear music and the laughter and he hated them for it. He wished he could see their faces when it went off. It was his only regret. But it was a small price to pay.

Harry turned to see Commodore Waite entering the room with his wife, who was wearing a smart black evening gown.

‘Evening, Sir,’ Harry said, shaking Waite’s hand. ‘Thank you for the invite.’

Mrs Waite kissed Harry on the cheek. ‘When we were out for dinner last month, you called him Chris all night,’ she said. ‘But now it’s “Sir”.’

‘That was pleasure, Mrs Waite,’ said Harry. ‘This is work.’ She was the Commodore’s second wife and still new enough to the military world to be fascinated by its quirks.

She looked at the gin bar surrounded by well-dressed guests. ‘You think this is work?’

Harry and Chris exchanged a smile.

‘How’s it feel to be back? I bet you’ve missed the old place,’ Waite said. It was true that Harry had always had a fondness for Devonport.

‘The place, yes. The people …’ He scrunched up his face.

The Commodore laughed, a loud boom fitting for a man of his status. ‘No doubt you’d whip ’em into shape.’