That was the itch, wasn’t it: the matter of Klara Rieger’s future. Now, within a few hours of home, that was the question that had been nagging away at his unconscious and must be dealt with. He had been sent to Germany to save a child’s life, but what was he taking her to?

Half an hour later, he heard their door bang shut and then silence. Good. With luck, that might mean they had gone out shopping with the money Harrison had given them, an expedition that could do them both some good. He shut his eyes for a moment and must have gone to sleep because he was brought to his senses by a knock at his own door. He rose from the bed, aware that he still had the pistol in his pocket. No one here in Sweden had seen fit to search him.

‘Hello?’ he said through the door.

‘A car is waiting for you downstairs, sir.’ A foreign-accented voice, speaking English. ‘From the British embassy.’

Wilde opened the door. A liveried bellboy was standing there hopefully, so Wilde found a coin for him.

‘Tell the driver I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.’

He went to the bathroom and washed his face, then combed his hair and put on his shoes. Time to call home.

*

The embassy was only a short drive away, a broad-fronted red-brick building with a wealth of white-framed windows. Somewhere between Lutyens and Queen Anne, Wilde decided as the car drew up in front of the glazed front door.

He was directed to Bertrand Harrison’s office.

‘Ah, Wilde,’ the envoy said. ‘Hope you’ve managed to wind down a little. Been a damned stressful time for you, I’m sure, taking responsibility for the ladies.’

‘It wasn’t quite like that.’

‘No? Oh well. Two bits of good news for you. Firstly, we have a telephone call booked to your good lady in Cambridge – ten minutes from now. And secondly we have a flight for you this evening. Midnight, in fact. Thick cloud cover forecast over Norway and Denmark, so you shouldn’t be troubled by flak or Me109s.’

‘Well, yes, that is good news.’

‘Can I offer you a drink? Scotch, perhaps?’

‘Thank you.’

*

The line was surprisingly good with only a short time-lapse.

‘Lydia, darling, I’m coming home. Tomorrow with luck. Are you well? And our little boy?’

‘We’re fine, Tom. Oh, but how are you? How have you ended up in Stockholm?’ Her cheery tone couldn’t disguise her anxiety. ‘No one’s told me anything – only that you’re safe.’

‘Long story. I’ll tell you all when I see you. Give Johnny a kiss.’

‘Tom . . .’ The line went scratchy for a few moments.

‘Lydia, I didn’t catch that.’

‘I said there was a phone call for you earlier today. He asked if you were there, and when you were coming home.’

‘Who? Who was it? Cashbone?’