Marion Hartley nodded and stood up. She looked at the sergeants and said, ‘It was an absolute pleasure.’ The sergeants seemed to have been rendered mute, but somehow managed to respond with silly schoolboy grins as she picked up her handbag and followed Spokes out of the office. Poor Emil Coetzee, Spokes thought as he shut the door behind them. He had never stood a chance. Marion Hartley was a very powerful force.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Spokes asked perfunctorily over his shoulder, fully expecting her to decline the offer.

‘That would be more than lovely,’ Marion Hartley said.

Spokes could hear her footsteps behind him as he changed direction and headed to the canteen. She followed him there, and he knew that she knew she was not supposed to be there. He knew that she liked knowing she was trespassing, and that there was nothing that he could do about it.

‘How do you take it?’ he asked.

‘With lots of lemon and no sugar,’ she replied, walking casually about the room, absent-mindedly examining the crockery and cutlery.

Spokes busied himself pouring hot tea from a large silver stainless-steel tea urn. Even above the noise made by the machine, he could hear Marion Hartley walking towards him. He placed her white cup on a white saucer, and she accepted them with both hands. As he prepared his own cup of tea, she watched him closely, so that he became self-conscious about the splash of hot milk and the lump of sugar he added to his cup. He opened a box of Lobels’ Choice Assorted Biscuits and hesitated slightly before offering it to her. She picked out two shortbread biscuits. He picked a single lemon cream for himself, and then closed the box.

‘You strike me as a very disciplined and principled man, Chief Inspector,’ Marion Hartley said. ‘One dash of milk. One lump of sugar. One lemon cream.’

‘I am just a simple man,’ Spokes said.

‘You are many things, Chief Inspector. A simple man is definitely not one of them.’

Again, Spokes stood before her, not knowing quite what to do. ‘Shall we head out to the courtyard?’ he asked at last.

Her smile disappeared and the twinkle left her eyes, and Spokes was sorry for it – sorry for the history that could not and would not let them take the first steps towards friendship.

Marion Hartley nodded and followed him out.

In the courtyard, they shared a whitewashed bench situated under an acacia tree in bloom, which provided wonderfully dappled shade that cast them both in light and shadow.

They drank their tea in silence for some time. She made rather fast work of her two shortbread biscuits, and then sipped at her tea. He took gulps of his tea and saved his lemon cream for last.