He’d felt easy over the summer, at peace, in that tumbledown cottage in Pantydwr. Of course, a rural grammar school wouldn’t be a patch on Camden Boys, and he wouldn’t get London weighting, but the classes would be smaller and the rent cheaper. Perhaps he could even buy a little house, that little cottage, for instance. Anatoly could go to hell with his threats. The security boys knew all about the accusations, and he reckoned he’d more than discharged his debts to them by feeding them details of what went on at the Partisan Coffee House. He was damned if he was going to hand Betty up on a plate to them, and he’d said as much to Norman.

He heard the letter box open and shut. He knew what it would be. Judas money. Thanks. Here’s the quid I owe you. Norman.

He could live like a hermit with the kites and owls for company, waking in the morning with the silhouette of a hare on the brow of the hill, counting chickens and collecting the eggs, rich and tasty from the grubs and worms they’d eaten. He checked the time. It wasn’t too late to ring Arthur, though he’d do it from the public phone on Southampton Row. Couldn’t risk his own being bugged.

His daughter answered. ‘I’ll just fetch him,’ she said. He heard the phone placed down on the table, her shout, Dad, Dad. Phone. There was a pause. Arthur picked up the receiver and John could hear his muffled voice.

‘I said, go to bed. You were supposed to have gone up half an hour ago.’ There was a pause. ‘Yes, I’ll come up and kiss you goodnight.’

Arthur spoke into the receiver, voice clear. ‘Sorry about that, John,’ he said. ‘Kids. Drive you to Bedlam.’

John laughed. He’d give his eye teeth to have Arthur’s life. ‘Sorry to ring you so late, Arthur,’ he said. ‘But there’s been another complication.’

‘You do pick them, if you don’t mind me saying so. What is it this time?’

‘The young lady I told you about. Remember?’

‘Betty?’ Arthur said. ‘Don’t tell me, she’s married.’

‘No. It turns out she’s Lieselotte’s sister. Not only that, she knew Anatoly in Berlin.’

Arthur whistled, soft as a bird.

‘Thing is, Arthur. We’ve had an almighty falling-out. She thinks I’m using her.’

Arthur laughed. ‘So I’m your agony uncle now, am I? As well as your confessor.’

‘Yes,’ John said. ‘The only way I can see to win her back is to tell her everything, and to hell with the consequences.’

‘That’s about as sensible as shooting yourself in the foot to get out of the army, if you ask me,’ Arthur said.

‘I can’t carry on like this, Arthur.’