Rolt continued, ‘We have turned a blind eye to extremist ideologies. We have let them import terror into our green and pleasant land. For their own good as much as ours, they would be happier elsewhere.’

‘So, let me get this clear. You’re advocating we repatriate people we regard as a threat to society?’

‘I’m advocating freedom from fear.’ Rolt leaned forward. ‘Go to the people staying in our hostels. Talk to the men and women from our armed services who are struggling to find their way back into the country that sent them off to war. Add up the expenditure on policing the potential terrorists, the incarceration of the convicted terrorists, the surveillance of suspects. Then add up what it would take to give those ex-servicemen and -women a decent job and a decent home. To give them some dignity, something in return for risking their lives to uphold our freedoms. What’s the point of their risking their lives if they come home to find the place awash with folk who want to take their freedom away?’

‘That’s pretty strong stuff.’

‘Not really. Ask yourself why none of our politicians is saying this. They’re so scared of alienating these “communities” that they’ve lost their nerve. Give the electorate some credit. Draw a line between the good, productive, useful members of our society – and those who aren’t. Get the good ones to help you weed out the others.’

The last time Tom had seen Rolt in fighting form was in the boxing ring. He was a scholarship boy with none of the advantages of his peers, who had tried hard at everything but never came top. Tom had respected him for his dogged determination and refusal to be put down by snobbery. But he had beaten him squarely in three rounds. Rolt had had the drive but not the super-quick reactions to deliver his punches with sufficient surprise or to dodge Tom’s relentless battering.

‘But, Mr Rolt, isn’t this just your anger talking – because your hostel was bombed?’

‘You ask if I’m angry. I’m bloody furious. Furious that this has been allowed to happen. Our politicians have yet to come up with an answer so I’m offering them one.’

‘One last thing, you’ve sunk your personal fortune into your hostels and apprenticeships. What happens when the money runs out?’

A flicker of hesitation. He hadn’t seen that one coming. ‘I’ll do what any decent businessman does and convince others that my projects are worth investing in.’

Phoebe leaned over to Tom and whispered, ‘Sorry about this. I hope we haven’t messed up your day.’

‘No. It’s very useful. He’s very measured under the circumstances.’

Phoebe’s eyes lingered on him. She was in her mid-twenties, he guessed, a blonde English rose, just the sort his mother would like. He thought of Delphine and how far away she seemed now.