‘That’s all?’ asks Loveday, and gives in to a cough. ‘You’ve been looking for me all these years and you’re just going to ask me a handful of questions and leave?’

Cordy gives him a tight smile. ‘I haven’t been looking for you,’ she says. ‘You never really mattered. A report simply crossed my desk a week ago asking whether we planned to reveal your true identity when you die, which will be in about six days according to your surgeon. My inclination was that we let your death go unremarked. But I did think it was a good opportunity to come and ask the one thing that has been pestering me for a long time, and which Flick here was keen to see resolved. I’ve dug deep and there’s no doubting you did a good job in covering everything up. What happened to your sister?’

Loveday pushes back into his pillows. He starts to choke on the mucus in his throat and it takes a long time for him to be able to breathe sufficiently well to talk. Neither woman tries to help him.

‘His death didn’t touch her,’ he says, at last. ‘She saw the body and it was like she was looking at an animal hit by a car. She came with us willingly. Her network hadn’t been compromised. She ran it from a new location for the best part of eighteen years. She stayed with the section longer than Christopher or I. I didn’t go to her funeral but I know there were many there who spoke of the great service she did her country.’

‘She was a cold, wicked bitch,’ says Felicity.

‘And she was one of the best,’ says Loveday, before closing his eyes, exhausted.

Outside, a black Bentley is waiting in the car park. A soft rain is falling from a pale blue sky.

As the two old ladies approach the car, a tall man in a black suit emerges from the driver’s seat and approaches with a large umbrella. Cordy gives a curt nod of thanks. Flick grins. They walk arm in arm to the vehicle and with a little difficulty and shuffling of limbs, climb into the warm, leather-lined interior.

‘You already knew all that,’ says Flick, under her breath. ‘You told me all that years ago. You said.’

‘Nice to have it confirmed,’ says Cordy, settling back in her chair.

‘You don’t think it was cruel? Asking an old man to remember the things he did so long ago?’

Cordelia considers this then shakes her head. ‘No. There’s no time limit on accountability. You can change everything about yourself but the evil you did will always drag along behind you. And if you pretend it isn’t there, it’s up to somebody else to hold it to your face and demand you look.’