‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.’

Hepton motioned towards the man and turned to Dreyfuss. ‘Let me,’ he said, ‘introduce you to Mr Sanders. Sanders, this is Major Mike Dreyfuss.’

‘How do you do?’ The two men nodded. Dreyfuss was looking to Hepton for guidance.

‘Sanders here,’ Hepton explained, ‘is a marvellous driver. He has a very fine Vauxhall Cavalier.’

Now Dreyfuss saw what he was getting at. His smile when he turned back towards Sanders was rapacious.

‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘A Cavalier?’

‘Yes,’ said Sanders, pleased at their interest but unsure just why they were interested. ‘It’s parked in the garage downstairs.’

34

Later, Sanders was able to reflect that that was the moment, really, when he lost his job. Because he didn’t see what they were getting at. Because he told them about the modified engine, modified for speed. Because when Major Dreyfuss asked to see the car, he didn’t check with Mr Parfit. Because he accompanied them past the security guard and down to the parking bays. Because he turned his back on them to open the door of the Cavalier …

And then woke up with a sore head and the drip of oil on his face. Staring up at the underside of a car and realising he had been knocked unconscious and hidden beneath the vehicle in the bay next to his. His bay, which was by then conspicuously empty.

The walk he took back upstairs – walking because it was slower than taking the lift, and he wished to defer the inevitable – was funereal. Yet necessary. There was no way he could hide what had happened. He had to tell Mr Parfit.

He was breathless when he reached Parfit’s floor, and realised with some surprise that he had just walked up eight flights of stairs. He remembered none of it.

He knocked on Parfit’s door.

‘Yes?’

He turned the handle and entered. Parfit was seated behind his desk, his hand poised on the telephone as though expecting a call.

‘Ah, Sanders,’ he said. ‘Come in. If it’s about your report, I really haven’t had a proper chance to read it yet, but I’m sure it’s …’

He stopped short. There was oil in Sanders’ hair, and the boy looked deathly pale, looked, indeed, beaten about a bit. Then it dawned.

‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Where are they?’

‘They’ve taken the car, sir. The Cavalier.’