She must have detected the apprehension in Christopher’s voice. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘she’ll have gone by the time we meet.’

Christopher stood on the pavement outside the Floral Hall as a cold north wind whipped down Bow Street and away towards the river. The Opera House foyer was crowded already. Had he told her the right time? Maybe she would decide against it. They were irrational thoughts, he knew, but his mind played upon them nevertheless.

Then, out of the melee of pedestrians, came a small figure. At first he was not sure that it really was Maria. She was smartly dressed in a fitted cream coat and her eyes seemed more defined, her whole face more glowing than before.

‘Goodness.’ The word was out before he could recall it.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I scrub up well.’

‘No, it’s just that…’

‘I don’t dress up for work?’

Christopher beamed at her. ‘You look lovely.’ Then he looked at his watch. ‘Time for a glass of champagne?’

‘You’re in charge,’ she said. And then, quite naturally and with no fuss at all, she slipped her arm into his and they walked into the Floral Hall.

Gary had wondered if Sarah’s ‘maybe’ would translate itself into a ‘maybe not’. As the end of their working day approached he had carefully, and against all his usual inclinations, avoided mentioning the subject again. They had done more work on Mr Tan. Gary had been out to walk the length of Harley Street and took a look at the particular properties where the Chinese gentleman seemed to have been conducting his business, and then he had set to finding out which of the occupants were his likely hosts.

Sarah had been involved in tying up the loose ends of another case involving a Russian diplomat who had gone missing. It was one of life’s anticlimaxes. He had been discovered in Paris under another identity, for no other reason than the job had all become too much for him. What had seemed like a case of espionage had turned out to be nothing more than a rather sad breakdown. Things did not always turn out as you expected.

Gary looked at his watch, then volunteered, ‘Right. That’s me done.’ He pressed the shutdown button on his laptop and got up from his chair.

Sarah watched him from her desk. He glanced over. She shut down her own laptop and got up. ‘OK, Mr Flynn. But we’d better not leave together. I’ll meet you at Waterloo. Platform nine.’

‘Why nine?’

‘That’s my lucky number.’

Gary was not sure what would happen when they got back to his place. He planned to cook her supper–not the steak and fries a girl might expect from a man of Gary’s general demeanour–but sole Veronique. Women generally went for a bit of fish, and he was rather proud of his sole Veronique.