‘Only when I breathe,’ he replied, with a voice that betrayed real pain. He looked at John and me, giving a little shake of his head. ‘This was the only course of action, was it, Pelletier? Couldn’t you have just thrown them in an outbuilding or something?’

‘Say the word,’ shrugged the one called Pelletier. ‘I thought you’d want to see if they were familiar faces.’

He leaned forward, angling the candle towards us. His gaze lingered on my face longer than John’s. I saw something flash in his eyes, some semblance of familiarity, of recognition. And then he was shaking his head.

‘Civilians. Wrong place, wrong time. Inconvenient, but largely irrelevant.’

‘My husband’s hurting,’ I said and I tasted salt as the tears and snot dribbled into my mouth. ‘Just let me call an ambulance, please. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t care either. I can keep a secret, just ask Cordelia. We did something together, years ago, and I’ve never said a blasted word – not even to John …’

The little man stood up. He wasn’t much more than five foot tall but he had a confidence about him, as if his smallness was just an act and that if he stopped concentrating he would be six foot three and built like an outside lavatory. He slipped the gun into the pocket of his coat. Spoke again to the couple beside him. It was a strange language, like something off one of those documentaries the BBC make about far-flung places. The woman nodded at whatever it was he said. Gave the man beside her a squeeze and stood herself up. She was a tiny thing. Her clothes were far too big for her and there was a nasty lump above her eye. It was hard to tell in the light but her skin had that lovely conker colour to it: a glow like good wood that’s been varnished.

‘Sera here will help you,’ said the little man, and it sounded odd to hear pure BBC vowels coming out of a mouth so mangled. He spoke like an officer, a proper Rupert. It was the kind of voice suited to horseback and cucumber sandwiches and games of croquet on lawns mowed by folk like John and me. ‘She has some medical knowledge and a far more kindly bedside manner than any of the rest of our company. Pelletier, tell your two bookends to help the gentleman into the little room back down the corridor there.’

‘You heard him,’ Pelletier said with a smile to the two men nearby.

Hard hands pushed me to the side and John was hauled upright and dragged across the flags towards the door.

‘Do be gentle,’ said Pelletier, wincing. ‘A little compassion wouldn’t do either of you any harm.’