As he approached, Tom scanned the building and smiled at the thought of the pained expression it would provoke on his mother’s face. This neo-Georgian – not real Georgian – edifice had been the 1930s creation of the hugely wealthy Woolworth’s heiress and socialite Barbara Hutton. With its huge central door flanked by Ancient Greek-style columns and a parapet featuring a relief of the seal of the USA, it was a classic example of an American’s idea of a British stately home. Perhaps she had been seduced by the fact that Henry VIII had hunted wild boar in the forest that had become Regent’s Park. When the Second World War broke out, it was commandeered by the RAF, and after it had fallen into disrepair Hutton had sold it to the US government for a token dollar. It had been the residence of the American ambassador ever since.

A covered walkway had been erected on the drive that reminded Tom of the hasty arrangements after the security panic following 9/11. The Americans weren’t taking any chances. Teams of men and women in black overalls were at the ready to pat, prod, probe and inspect the guests. He joined the queue and, as he waited to be cleared, listened to the two Americans in front of him as they complained about the heightened security. They agreed, however, that with all these measures in place because of the current troubles, this was probably the safest place in Britain right now, especially with American security being run by US personnel. A Brit said defensively that they had been dealing with terrorist threats for forty years, since the bad old days of the Northern Irish Troubles and the IRA. The two Americans seemed somewhat baffled. Come on, they were funded by you lot, Tom felt like reminding them. Sure the Brits were old hands at this, but even at the height of the IRA’s bombing campaign here, a typical security check mostly amounted to no more than a cursory glance into bags and briefcases. Now, the War on Terror had provoked a massive boom in private security, with entirely new industries generated. Would that be his future too, Tom wondered, as the line edged slowly forward.

His eye was caught by a striking young woman in a deep blue dress further up the line, leaning close to her partner. Immediately he thought of Delphine, and how she would have appreciated an event like this, something impressive and glamorous to make up for all they had been through. There was no point in dwelling on how their last encounter had ended: he must put it out of his mind and focus on tonight. To pass the time he did a mental audit of recent events.