‘That’s why they’re here. Not to say they’ll do much good if my card is marked. Much as I want to stop Karen Hope, I value my life too. It’s why evil people are able to do evil things, Rebecca. Because most of us are too scared to stop them.’

‘What about the terrorists who carried out the attack?’

‘We’ll deal with them separately.’ Fairchild put his napkin down on the table, pushed back his chair and stood. He slid the envelope across the table. ‘There’s more information in here and the evidence you want too. When you’ve read through everything, call me. If you’re still not interested then our relationship is at an end. I’ll respect your decision either way, but I’m not sure your father will.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Silva glanced to where the waiter was carrying two plates of food over. ‘Without eating?’

‘Tell him I was called away.’ Fairchild pulled out his wallet and laid two fifty-pound notes on the table. ‘Urgent business.’

‘But…?’

‘My time is precious. You’ll make your decision based on the evidence. I don’t think anything else I say will sway you.’ Fairchild gestured at the envelope. He’d done arguing and there was an air of resignation about his manner. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you’re more than this, more than passing time here, delivering letters, marking the days. You’ve done some remarkable things in your life so far, Ms da Silva, and I fully expect you to carry on in that vein. If we don’t meet again, then I wish you luck.’

Fairchild stepped away from the table and whirled round. He headed along the quayside, his aides moving from their positions and following at a discreet distance. The waiter laid the two plates on the table and glanced at the rapidly disappearing figure of Fairchild.

‘Change of plan,’ Silva said. She pointed at the seafood platter. ‘It’s just me, but you can leave that and I’ll see what I can do.’

Six a.m. the next morning and the bleeping of the alarm on his phone came all too early. Holm rose, showered and dressed. He’d slept badly and was still suffering from a thumping headache as he met Javed in the car park. There’d been four empty bottles of red wine on the table when the night had finally ended and Javed hadn’t moved beyond fizzy water.

‘You drive,’ Holm said, chucking the keys to Javed. ‘Be a bit rich if I got pulled over for drunk driving.’

Javed nodded and wisely chose not to make a joke.

Felixstowe lay a few miles to the south-east of Ipswich but the journey was quite long enough for Holm. Every turn of the steering wheel or dab of the brakes had him feeling nauseous.