‘That’s one,’ said the voice behind him. It was Nick Christopher, smiling, letting the gym door swing shut behind him.

Hepton smiled and pulled himself off the floor again, straining this time, coming down heavily.

‘Two,’ counted Christopher.

‘Enough for today,’ said Hepton, feeling the blood pound in his chest.

‘Is this man out of condition? I ask myself.’

‘Okay, let’s see you do some.’

‘Stand aside, shrimp.’ Christopher pulled a crossword book out of his back trouser-pocket and handed it to Hepton, then gripped the bar and heaved himself aloft. He managed fifteen pulls, then rested, breathing hard.

‘I’m impressed,’ said Hepton.

‘If there’s one thing regular sex does for you,’ explained Christopher, taking the book back, ‘it gives you a strong pair of arms.’ They both laughed.

‘I wouldn’t know sex if it hit me in the face,’ Hepton said.

‘That’s your problem then,’ Christopher said. ‘You can’t tell the difference between sex and a slap in the face.’ He paused. ‘How are things with Jilly?’

‘What things? I haven’t heard from her since she went to London.’

‘Have you tried calling her?’

‘Only every day.’

‘So do you get the feeling it’s all over?’

‘Just a little.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Martin.’

Hepton shrugged. He gripped the bar again and managed two more hoists.

‘What about Paul?’ Nick Christopher asked.

‘What about him?’

‘Have you managed to find out anything?’

‘Apparently he’s gone off to some rest home.’

‘Jesus, it must be bad then. I thought those places were for the dying and the dead.’

Hepton tried a third hoist, failed, and dropped to the ground. ‘Better book me a room in one then,’ he said. ‘After you’ve bought me a drink.’

They sat down in the cafeteria, drinking cans of cola and eating crisps.

‘Is this supposed to be brain food?’ Christopher asked. Then: ‘What do you think of that shuttle, the Argos, crashing like that?’

‘I think our man was lucky to get out in one piece.’

It was front-page news, of course. Tomorrow it would be relegated, but for today, Major Mike Dreyfuss was famous, which was, Hepton supposed, what the bastard had always wanted. Hepton had two very good reasons for being jealous of Mike Dreyfuss. For one thing, the man had actually touched the skies, while all he, Hepton, could do was watch them.

For another, Dreyfuss and Jilly went back a long way. They had never been lovers, perhaps – though he had her word alone on that – but they had been friends, very close friends, and while she had allowed Hepton into her bed and her body, her mind had stayed closed to him. Yet she had spoken of Dreyfuss with such tenderness …