Sanders twitched his head towards a table and carried his glass over to it. Hepton followed closely, placing his beer on one of the mats on the highly polished tabletop. The men at the bar were sharing a joke. He couldn’t help thinking they were discussing him, and he too reddened slightly at the cheeks.

‘Where’s your friend, then?’ Sanders asked, his voice sharp, kept low only through the greatest restraint.

‘I don’t know,’ Hepton said. ‘Maybe he couldn’t make it.’

Sanders shook his head. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Go back to London?’ Hepton offered.

Sanders stared hard at him. ‘Where are these video tapes?’ he asked. ‘We’ll just have to go fetch them.’

It was Hepton’s turn to shake his head. ‘That isn’t possible.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would mean going into the lion’s den.’

‘Better that than sitting in this particular den.’ Sanders threw a baleful glance towards the bar.

‘I could try phoning him again, let him know we’re here.’

Sanders considered this. ‘Might be an idea,’ he said.

Hepton stood up. ‘Back in a second.’ He took a look around but could see no sign of a telephone. He went to the bar. The barman had the same fixed smile on his face.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Do you have a telephone?’

The barman shook his head theatrically. ‘Not as such, no. We don’t have a public telephone, but there’s one behind the bar.’ He reached down and lifted an aged Bakelite handset onto the counter. ‘Provided it’s a local call, that is.’

‘Oh yes,’ Hepton assured him. ‘It’s local. We were supposed to be meeting a friend here, but we got held up. He’s probably been and gone.’

‘Would that be Mr Christopher?’

Hepton stared in surprise at the man, who was fussing beneath the bar again. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said the barman, as if this explained everything. ‘Mr Christopher said there’d just be the one of you. Victor, he said it would be.’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Only,’ the barman continued, ‘he said he couldn’t stop, since things are so busy back at that spy place of his where he works. So he asked me to give you this.’

Hepton stared at the plain white plastic carrier bag. The two black video cases were visible inside.

‘Dirty films,’ said one of the locals. ‘That’s what we thought, isn’t it, Gerry?’

The barman’s smile broadened, and the three locals gave throaty laughs. Hepton joined them, elated.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not dirty films. Just tapes of a friend’s wedding.’

‘Including the honeymoon?’ rasped the first man, causing more laughter.

Hepton had brought a ten-pound note from his pocket.

‘I think this calls for a round,’ he said. ‘Whatever these gentlemen are having, and one for yourself.’