‘Not the swearing, you muppet. That bit I could happily have lived with. In fact I’m a bit let down it’s not true. What I’m asking about isn’t “blasts minister”, it’s “Hero cop”. What are they talking about?’

As expected. Mickey and Roz having replayed this discussion perhaps a dozen times over the past ten years. Roz’s position on the matter being simple and, from her perspective, clearly defined: Mickey was free to ponce about playing 007 as much as he liked. But only as long as it was a Bond-girl-free existence. And, crucially, providing he took no unnecessary risks. To which Mickey’s response had, over the years, been consistent. Bond girls, obviously, were both a definite no-no and, more to the point, exceedingly unlikely. Whereas the potential for Mickey to have to put his body in the way of flying metal to prevent the perforation of the principal was a remote but unavoidable fact of life. Albeit a fact that Roz had, over the years, steadfastly refused to accept.

Mickey had, of course, long argued that the likelihood of such an event occurring on his watch was beyond negligible. Firstly because of the simple odds. With five hundred Prot officers, the odds of Mickey being the bullet-catcher on the spot were far higher than one hundred to one. On top of which, he had pointed out, such an attack on a member of the government was highly unlikely. Because reasons. The Special Air Service, MI6 and the long-armed wrath of HMG not the least of them.

His argument having long been that the revenge for any such attack would be epic. Roz’s response being equally dismissive of her spouse’s argument. An attack, in her opinion being ever more likely, not less. Because suicide bombers, because lone nutters and most of all because explosive vests. An argument that Mickey sincerely prayed would never be properly tested.

‘Roz, love, I’m simply not allowed—’

‘Cut the crap, Mickey! What were you doing?’

And so, where the Official Secrets Act of 1989 had succeeded in deflecting one powerful woman, another blew through that defence like it was smoke. Mickey told her as much as he could. Playing down the more explosive elements of the story. Such as a foreign government’s assassination team having been frustrated by the militant arm of the Foreign Office. An event that could have seen the death of minister, equerry and all four Prot officers. Foreign government hit squads not being in the business of leaving witnesses to their kills. Not that Roz was fooled.

‘So you were rescued by the SAS then? And then nearly killed by a car bomb!’

‘Not what I said, Roz.’ Mickey was becoming perturbed by both her intuitive skills and the volume at which she was expressing them. In a coffee shop full of people with nothing better to do than earwig interesting conversations like that. ‘These were contractors.’