‘I love that one, so much prefer it to the sixth, don’t you?’

‘Oh yes, the sixth is played far too often.’ The bloody bitch, John thought, looking at Matilda’s chin, slight and undecided. ‘More coffee? A brandy now before bed?’

‘No, Piers, no thank you. Have you been away?’

When she smiled the chin altered, stopped being weak. He wondered why, as he often had before, liking to know people exactly.

‘I was going but then this Warner affair blew up. I shall go next week, it’s a small delay that’s all.’

‘Where are you going?’ Matilda kept her voice steady by refusing to hear the name Warner.

‘Czechoslovakia.’

‘Fishing?’

‘No, no, this is work. The fellow is, it seems, in Prague, which complicates things slightly.’

‘What fellow?’ Her voice steady, lifting up her coffee cup, looking across at John/Piers the future knight.

‘Hugh Warner, the man they call the Matricide. You must have read the papers. Killed his mother, smashed in her skull with a tea-tray.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Matilda hoped her heart could not be seen thundering against her ribcage. ‘Of course I’ve read about him. I’m more amused though by the man who ate his wife’s dog. He must be some sort of pervert, don’t you think?’ She put her cup down on the table beside her, triumphant when it did not rattle.

‘He’s not a pervert.’

‘Oh John – to eat a dog!’

‘I’m talking about Warner. The “ate wife’s dog” man must have done it for publicity. No, I’m talking about Warner.’

‘What’s he to do with you?’

‘The office is interested. The assassination of his mother was just a cover.’

‘It must be very serious to have such a desperate cover.’ Matilda affected eager interest. ‘Tell me more – what’s it about?’

‘I can’t, Matty.’ She hated him calling her Matty. ‘You should know by now I don’t talk.’

‘Another Burgess and Maclean? A Philby? They didn’t murder their mothers, did they? Goodness me, reading the papers one would never guess.’

‘Don’t be silly, Matty. It’s a sort of – let’s call it a parallel.’

‘Call it anything you like, Johnnie. How do you know he’s in Prague?’

‘I can’t tell you that but he is. Why d’you call me Johnnie suddenly? You never have before. Call me Piers.’

‘You call me Matty and I hate it. Are you going to Prague to see him?’

‘I can’t tell you that either. Don’t pry, Matty. I shall call you Matty. I want to, I always have. It would be difficult to change now.’

‘I’m sure I asked you not to. I must have.’

‘No, no never.’ John well remembered the occasion when she had, the intonation of her voice. It was all a long time ago but clear.