‘Modernisation,’ I said. ‘To make it fit for purpose.’

‘Is there any chance of getting a sneak preview?’ she asked.

‘You were always on the stakeholder list,’ I said. ‘And part of the initial round of consultation going forward.’

‘Stop that,’ she said.

‘Stop what?’

‘You know what.’

I shrugged and waited to find out what this was really all about.

‘Peter,’ she said, ‘we need to talk about you and Beverley.’

‘Is this going to be the big sister talk?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ she said.

‘Have you had it with Beverley?’

‘Many times,’ she said. ‘But I promise that this will be the only time I will have it with you.’

‘You don’t like me seeing Bev – right?’

‘It’s not the seeing I mind, or the shagging, or the fact that she keeps introducing you to mysteries that you shouldn’t be party to,’ said Lady Ty.

‘Really? Like what?’

Lady Ty grimaced. ‘Nice try,’ she said. ‘You’re both young and stupid and nothing I say is going to make you stop. But you need to listen to me carefully. Whatever you think this thing you’ve got with Beverley is, it’s got to be strictly short-term. It can’t get serious. And if you’re thinking about getting married, it is right out of the question.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘I’m serious,’ she said.

I felt myself flush.

‘You don’t think I’m good enough?’ I said.

Lady Ty sighed and held up a hand.

‘You seem to have got the impression that I don’t like you,’ she said. ‘As a person, that is – rather than a fucking impediment to everything I’ve been trying to build for the last twenty years.’ She hesitated and then sighed again. ‘Where was I?’

‘Fucking impediment,’ I said.

‘Look, this isn’t going to work unless you have a drink,’ said Lady Ty and pushed a wine glass across the table at me and picked up the bottle. ‘I can’t do this with you staring at me like a Methodist preacher.’

‘Tyburn,’ I said.

She gave me a weary look and then intoned that she, Lady Ty, held me to no obligation and that I could partake freely of her hospitality without obligation.

‘Satisfied?’ she asked.

I nodded and she poured the wine.

‘You remember that Christmas I dug you out from under Oxford Circus?’

‘How could I forget?’ I said.

‘That’s what I wondered all last week,’ said Lady Ty.

I sipped my wine. It tasted like, well, red wine. Despite Nightingale and Molly’s best efforts that’s still as far as my palette goes.