He started the same playlist they’d driven down to; this time, she’d allow him to break the silence. Several tracks later, nearing the Severn Bridge, he finally did. ‘So… You tell me. Which “narrative”? His or yours? And by the by, how long have you been thinking of it and deciding not to try it on me?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even know I was going to do it. It was his arrogance. His certainty.’ A riposte came to her. ‘And you never told me you were bringing the contract.’

‘No. No, I didn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I honestly don’t know… some instinct, I guess. That, in its way, it was a weapon. A protection even.’ He checked the rear-view mirror. ‘Back to the narrative…’

‘Neither. Both. I don’t know. There is no certainty. It’s all about power and manipulation. It goes back to what he is. Sociopath. Psychopath. Whatever.’

‘Yes, we like to use those terms now to find explanations. But in his distorted way, he’s brilliant. A genuine leader. The amoral mastermind who employs useful idiots. He said it himself. He wouldn’t give a tuppenny damn about sacrificing any of them.’ He hesitated. ‘What was he saying about a text message, Sara?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was subdued, not wanting to say but knowing she must. ‘It’s the one thing I couldn’t tell you. Of course, he knew that. That’s why he worked it in. It was hardly part of the story.’

‘What happened?’

‘It was the early morning of July the 7th. Two hours before 7/7. I had an anonymous text, it said something like, “don’t use the buses or tubes in London today.” I tried to hit reply, it wouldn’t send. I assumed it was some kind of hoax. If I phoned the police, I thought I’d feel a fool. I talked myself out of doing anything. When I got to work, I suddenly thought I should at least do something. So I tried the Met confidential line.’ She paused, feeling for a tissue in her bag. ‘It was too late.’

He slowed down, switching to the inside lane, allowing himself a fleeting second to watch her. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Think about it. If you’d tried to report it – whoever you chose – how could it have made any difference? Not then. 7/7 came from a clear blue sky. They’d never have cleared the whole of central London transport on the back of a single imprecise text message. Let alone inside two hours. You didn’t need to beat yourself up then. You don’t now.’

‘I felt guilty enough not to tell you, didn’t I? To hold it back.’

‘You’ve told me now.’