The Colonel watched O’Reilly hit the ball hard but slice it into the rough on the left.

‘You’re looking at about four hours then.’

Graham Smith made two air shots, missing the ball completely, and on his third attempt the ball scooted about fifty metres along the ground.

Stanley sighed. ‘This could take all fucking day the way Smith plays.’

‘I’ll nip out when the coast is clear and get some coffee and sandwiches.’

‘Get some newspapers and magazines as well.’

‘Hustler or Penthouse?’ the Colonel quipped as he got out of the van.

*

Jane woke early after a restless night thinking about her undercover role at the wedding. She felt nervous, not just about what she was doing, but also at the thought of seeing Carl again. Although part of her looked forward to it, she felt she was prolonging the agony for herself – and Carl – before she walked out of his life. She wondered if, after the Ripleys were arrested, she should tell him the truth, and that although she had lied to him she genuinely thought he was a nice man. It was all too much. As she sat in the kitchen eating her breakfast, she began to wonder if she should have told Murphy that she didn’t want to go to the wedding.

After a lot of indecision going through her wardrobe, she finally decided what to wear. She chose a knee-length pleated floral print dress in shades of pink, blue and yellow, with ruched shoulder straps that could be worn on or off the shoulder. To go with the dress, she chose some pink flat-soled shoes with a matching ribbon on them, and a beige wide-brimmed hat with an organza flower bow.

Before ironing her dress, she had a bath and washed her hair, then blow-dried it and put in some sponge curlers. Looking at the clock, she realised she still had five hours before Teflon would be picking her up. She put on her dressing gown, lay on the sofa and went back to reading Medea.

*

The day shift guard got out of his car with the engine running and pressed the intercom of the gated entrance to the Security Express depot in Curtain Road, Shoreditch.

‘It’s me, Harry. Open the gates, will ya?’ Archie said. ‘And stick the kettle on.’ Harry checked the TV screen linked to the front gate camera and, satisfied it was his work colleague, pressed the button to open the large electric gates. Archie drove in, then parked his car in the corner of the yard and heard an Irish voice call out.

‘Excuse me, my son, I was wondering if ya can help me.’

Archie saw an elderly, grey-haired, bearded man with stooped shoulders shuffling towards him as the gates closed. He was dressed in a black suit and shirt, and wore thick-rimmed brown glasses and black leather gloves.

‘You can’t come in here, mate,’ Archie said, warily holding his hand up.