A couple of the other lads were present at this informal meeting, but as Anna and I walked out and down the steps of the building she and I were alone for a few moments. Suddenly she said, ‘I’d like to offer you a more personal thank you as well.’ She gave me a sideways, come-on look. ‘Will you come and have supper?’

The invitation took me by surprise. Until now she’d been so formal and so correct – so impersonal, although always friendly – that the idea of trying to take her out had almost faded from my mind. Still less had I imagined that she’d ever invite me. Apart from that brief walk we’d taken one lunchtime we’d never been alone. Now, for a moment, I was stuck for an answer.

‘You don’t have to come. That wasn’t an order!’ She gave me that sidelong glance again and burst out laughing. She also started to raise her right hand, and I thought she was going to take me by the arm; but luckily at that moment Mal came running round the corner with a cry of, ‘Forgot my flaming notes.’

Once he’d passed, I looked back at her and said, ‘Terrific. I’d like that. When were you thinking of?’

‘One day next week, maybe? Friday?’

‘Fine.’

‘I’ll come and pick you up at seven-thirty. I suggest that to avoid gossip, we say we’ve been summoned to see the Minister.’

In the mean time I was glad to keep our rendezvous with Sasha and his mother. Since he’d asked two of us, Whinger was my obvious choice as No. 2 – but that afternoon he had developed a filthy sore throat, and by the evening he was more or less speechless. So in his place I nominated Rick, first because of his Russian, second because, if he was with us, I’d know for sure that he wasn’t shagging Mafia women.

Sasha came and collected us at 7.00, and for this excursion no subterfuge was necessary, so we went off openly, casually dressed in jeans and sweaters.

At first, Sasha was on a high. He had more information about the victims of the raid on the apartment, and it had emerged that one of the five at the table had been Ruslan Beno, another big player in the Chechen mafia.

‘You don’t mean Keet?’ I asked.

‘By no means,’ Sasha replied quickly. ‘This Whale, Keet – I showed you, he was one. His name was Gaidar, one of three brothers, very notoriotous. Beno is also from Grozny, but younger man.’

‘I know which he was,’ I said. ‘That dark young fellow who got dropped half-way to the door of the living room.’