Hepton moved past him and started upstairs, Sanders following.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But it could mean a whole lot of brownie points for you.’

‘I still need to know why we’re going to Lincolnshire.’

Hepton stopped and turned to him. ‘Is there a video recorder in the safe house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, because we’re going to be watching some videos later on, after we come back.’

Sanders nodded. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

Hepton fixed his eyes on those of the younger man. ‘Because you worked for Villiers,’ he said. ‘And because for all I know, you still do.’

Sanders shrugged. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ he said. ‘But like it or not, I’m coming with you tonight. What about Jilly?’

‘I’d rather she didn’t go with us. No real reason.’

‘You think it could be dangerous?’

Hepton managed a wry smile. ‘These days,’ he said, ‘who can tell?’

Of course, Jilly was furious. She didn’t want to be left out, and the fact that Hepton wasn’t telling her much about the trip only served to kindle her curiosity further.

‘Damn you, Martin Hepton! You were always too secretive, that was what I hated about you!’

Her words bounced around inside his head all during the drive. In the end, she had calmed a little, thrown herself into a chair and picked up a newspaper, using it as a shield against him. No matter how pleasant the house in Marlborough Place was – and it was pleasant – it was still a prison, a place of detention. There were two guards to look after Jilly, but they didn’t only stop people entering the house; they stopped them leaving as well. And if Jilly was nothing else, she was a free spirit. Hepton could vouch for that.

Always too secretive. Damn you.

Yes, he’d been secretive. He had told her about his work, but not all about it. There always had to be something held back, something left unsaid. And he had never talked much about himself anyway, preferring to hear Jilly talk about her own life. It was so much more lively and vibrant, so much more interesting. So much more … open.

‘I’d still like to know,’ Sanders yelled. He was driving fast, with the car radio tuned in to the closing overs of a cricket match and the windows open to let some early-evening breeze into the stifling interior. The sun was coming lower in the sky. Soon, Hepton was thinking, soon it’ll start getting dark earlier … Except that in some places it already was getting dark earlier.

‘What?’ he said.

‘I’d still like to know,’ Sanders called, ‘what’s on these videos.’

‘Me too,’ Hepton murmured. ‘Me too.’