‘Peter flamin’ Black! What an arsehole! What an idiot! I’m gunna get even, believe me. To do that to such a vewy special young lady! She’s like a daughter to me; a daughter, I tell you. She’s my girl’s best friend.’ North leant close and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. ‘You know about ’er farver?’ Haut looked around and nodded. ‘The Russians are gunna be very, very unhappy abart this. We gotta do somefink.’

‘I’ll help,’ Haut said, ‘any way you like.’

‘Nar, nar, my son,’ North said. ‘Leave this to professionals. Don’t you worry, I’ll look after it.’

*

Two nights later, Haut was lying in his Jermyn Street apartment bed at 1 a.m., praying as he almost always did. Over and above the steady thump of a bass guitar, the clang of food trolleys and the odd voice in Jermyn Street, he thought he heard muffled screams and howls, like ghosts in a haunted house. They were muted and just discernible but went on for so long that Haut was compelled to leave his bed, pull on clothes and wander down to the street. There was a heavy guard at the entrance to the Magic club.

He listened hard. He could hear nothing, so he returned to his bed. He heard a couple more low screams at about 2 a.m. and, after that, nothing. Haut prayed again and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, he met North for their usual special liqueur coffee in the bar at 4.30 p.m. North had just showered but had not managed to clear away his puffed-up eyes.

‘Late night?’ Haut asked.

‘Late morning,’ North grumbled. He indicated to Florence that he wanted more liqueur in his drink, saying, ‘’air of the dog, innit.’

‘Last night, in the early hours, I thought I heard screaming, shrieks of pain. Quite blood-curdling,’ Haut said.

‘Nightmare, perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘The basements are sometimes linked around dis area,’ North observed. ‘You know, tunnels, vents, secret passageways. Da noise may have come up to your apartment, from anywhere. I dunno.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Yeah. I’m told that there’s even a secret passage from da Palace to a nightclub in Piccadilly.’

‘Tell me more.’

‘Yeah, the Duke of Edinburgh apparently makes use of it from time to time. Or ’e did when ’e was a lot younger.’

Florence added more liqueur to both their drinks. They sat in silence, idly watching her as she busied herself behind the counter. North seemed in no mood to make conversation. But after a minute or two he had a mumbled phone call, in which he turned away from Haut. Then he leant close and said, ‘Al, Natalia’s butchers ’ave been dealt wiv, good and proper.’

Haut scrutinised him, prompting North to add, ‘Day won’t be butchering anyone, ever again. And you, my God-fearing son, will not have to ask your god to get back at ’em. It’s done.’