Clive sat in his dentist’s waiting room staring at the glossy magazine that lay open in his lap. He studied the woman in the picture, matching hers with a face that he had seen many years before. His comparison was methodical and meticulous, checking features that remained largely unaltered by increasing age. Her high forehead, sharp cheekbones, strong jawline and pale, wide-set eyes all matched the picture that had been automatically filed in his memory so long ago. Clive had a facility for faces. His brain had an extraordinary capacity to process a composite of their visual characteristics and store it until it became necessary or desirable to recall it. This rare talent had been an invaluable asset in his undercover work and might now enable him to help Billie In The Bowler Hat. He couldn’t say exactly what it was that made him want to please her. Perhaps it was because she was a friend of Madame Burova’s, a woman who had always treated him with kindness and respect. Not everyone did. Or perhaps it was simply because of her smile.

Clive’s reverie was interrupted by the receptionist calling his name. Once his teeth had been thoroughly inspected and cleaned, and he had swilled with red mouthwash that tasted of aniseed and dabbed his lips with a small, square tissue, he returned to the waiting room to pay. He had intended to retrieve the magazine and ask if he might be allowed to take it. It was an old edition that would no longer be available to buy, and he would have been happy to replace it with a new one. Unfortunately for Clive the magazine was in the hands of a young woman who was flicking through its pages and chewing gum with exaggerated belligerence. Clive hesitated, uncertain how best to proceed. Normally, he would have simply walked away, unwilling to engage in any social interaction with a stranger that wasn’t strictly necessary. But on this occasion, it was different. He needed to do this. For Billie In The Bowler Hat.

‘Excuse me,’ he ventured.

The young woman looked up at him and twiddled her nose ring. ‘Yeah?’

‘Could I please have that magazine? I need it for a friend.’

The young woman raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m reading it.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry. But could you perhaps read one of the others?’ Clive gestured to several piles of various publications neatly stacked on the table in front of her.

‘Perhaps you could take one of the others for your friend,’ the young woman replied with a sneer. ‘Or better still, why don’t you buy one, you tight old git!’ Adding ‘weirdo’ not quite under her breath.

Clive was undeterred. It was as though once he had taken the initial plunge, his commitment to the mission, whatever it might be, was unconditional.