Klara gave Johnny an appraising look. ‘He walks well. But he doesn’t talk yet.’

‘No. He tries to say Mummy and Daddy. But that’s all. Perhaps he can learn to say Klara.’

‘I’d like that.’ She grinned sheepishly, then whispered, ‘I think his nappy needs to be changed.’

Lydia set about the task while Wilde cleaned the coal dust off his hands, before having a rummage in Harry Taylor’s wardrobes. The young Trinity don was about the same size as Wilde, perhaps half an inch taller, but of a similar build. He found a distinctive herringbone coat and a trilby. Perfect for Wilde to bury himself in, perhaps. He tried them on and found Lydia.

‘How do I look?’

‘You look like Thomas Wilde to me, but it might camouflage you a little. If you don’t want anyone to recognise you, the best thing you can do is alter your gait and posture. Slump your shoulders and shuffle – you’ll look twenty years older.’

‘Good idea. Look, I’m going to leave you all here for a bit. Perhaps I’ll find some ice cream or cakes, you never know. I may be a little while.’

‘We’ll need a few more basic groceries, Tom. I’ll have to go out with my ration book and see what I can find.’

‘Later, Lydia. Stay here with the children. I have to get the Rudge first. I need transport and we can’t use the car.’

*

It was late afternoon and already dark. A cold mist was rising off the Cam. Wilde attempted to alter his stride as Lydia had suggested, but he wasn’t convinced the result looked very natural. Finally he gave up and just walked at a brisk pace, the trilby wedged firmly down over his brow.

Apart from the military presence, the sandbagged buildings and the occasional evidence of bomb damage, the centre of town had a festive feel to it, with Christmas fare on show in the shops; perhaps not quite of pre-war proportions, but heartwarming nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at the end of their street. He stopped and looked about carefully first. He knew that if Eaton was intent on finding him, this would be the first place he’d stake out. But it seemed to Wilde that Eaton had been ambivalent about the whole Klara plan. Perhaps he would not provide Cashbone with entirely wholehearted assistance. He needed to speak to the MI6 man soon, though, to be sure how things now stood.

Wilde was a little surprised to see a Bentley parked some way up the street on the far kerb. This was a reasonably well-to-do area, but the residents didn’t tend to have such expensive motors. He shrugged it off. Neither MI6 nor America’s COI would ever use such an ostentatious car in a surveillance operation; the idea was not to stand out.