His eyes twitched as he grew angry. The old Jack, the homicidal one, returned for a moment. But the feelings were short-lived and his shoulders fell as he realised that without the Goliath Security Service to back him up, his power over me was minimal.

'Maybe you're right,' he said simply. 'You will not have to wait your turn, Miss Next, I will deal with your case personally. Is this your son?' He bent down to look closer. 'Cute fellow, isn't he?'

'Eiusmod tempor incididunt adipisiting elit,' said Friday, glaring at Jack suspiciously.

'What did he say?'

'He said: "If you touch me my mum will break your nose.'"

Jack stood up quickly.

'I see. Goliath and myself offer a full, frank and unreserved apology.'

'What for?'

'I don't know. Have it on account. Would you care to come to my office?'

He beckoned me out of the door and we crossed a courtyard with a large fountain in the middle, past a few suited Goliath officials chattering in a corner, then through another doorway and down a wide corridor full of clerks moving backwards and forwards with folders tucked under their arms.

Jack opened a door, ushered me in, offered me a chair and then sat himself. It was a miserable little office, devoid of any decoration except a shabby Lola Vavoom calendar on the wall and a dead plant in a pot. The only window looked out on to a wall. He arranged some papers on his desk and spoke into the intercom.

'Mr Higgs, would you bring the Thursday Next file in, please?'

He looked at me earnestly and set his head at a slight angle, as though trying to affect some sort of apologetic demeanour.

'None of us quite realised,' he began in the sort of soft voice that undertakers use when attempting to persuade you to buy the deluxe coffin, just how appalling we had been until we started asking people if they were at all unhappy with our conduct.'

'Why don't we cut the cr—' I looked at Friday, who looked back at me. '—cut the, cut the . . . nonsense and go straight to the place where you atone for your crimes.'

He sighed and stared at me for a moment, then said:

'Very well. What did we do wrong again?'

'You can't remember?'

'I do lots of wrong things, Miss Next, you'll excuse me if I can't remember details.'

'You eradicated my husband,' I said through gritted teeth. 'Of course! And what was the name of the eradicatee?'

'Landen,' I replied coldly, 'Landen Parker-Laine.'

At that moment a clerk arrived with a file marked 'most secret' and laid it on his desk. Jack opened it and leafed through.