He was being cagey and I knew why. I had once asked Nick why Charles didn’t get another job if he disliked being a secretary so much. ‘Frankly, no one else would give him one,’ Nick had replied. ‘His parents ran off to Northern Ireland with the Royals, you see – I believe his father’s from Dublin and was supposed to be some sort of envoy to the Irish government – and they’re up in Edinburgh with the new Queen now. So no one wants to touch him for fear of being tainted by that. But he was in my regiment on D-Day and when you’ve gone through that together, well …’ He drifted off and his face took on a troubled, faraway expression that I saw from time to time when the War came up. All I could do was place my hand on his arm and hope he understood.

‘Charles,’ I said, ‘I appreciate what you’re saying.’

‘I’m glad,’ he replied coldly.

‘I know your parents are in Edinburgh with the Queen –’

He jumped up. ‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘So you don’t want NatSec knocking on your door, but –’

‘I am not responsible for what my parents do.’ He angrily stubbed out his fag on the grate. My eye was drawn to the livid clutch of little blisters on his hand.

‘Of course not. I only meant –’

‘Are you responsible for what your parents do?’ he demanded.

Damn it. I had wanted to reassure him, but all I had done was to alienate him more. I was losing what little help he had been giving me. ‘I was saying that –’

‘Will there be anything else, Mrs Cawson?’

I gave up. I couldn’t think of anything worth asking and he probably wouldn’t have answered anyway. ‘No.’ He glared at me for a long time before he went to the front door. Just as he was about to open it, however, he whirled around and dashed up the stairs. ‘Who are you?’ he said angrily. He was staring at Tibbot. Tibbot didn’t reply.

‘A friend of mine,’ I said.

‘A friend? Just waiting up here?’ His tone wasn’t pleasant.

‘It’s none of your concern.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No,’ Tibbot replied.

‘Well, I’m going to ask you again.’ He stabbed his finger at Tibbot. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Look, mate, do you really fancy your luck?’ the old policeman replied. ‘Only that pricey bit of schmutter you’re wearing won’t look very nice ripped apart.’

Charles twisted around to look down at me. ‘I don’t know what this is about, but you had better stop it.’ Realizing that he would get nowhere, he looked icily at Tibbot once more and stomped out to the street.