‘Great! But they won’t let you in here. You need passes and all that kind of stuff. We’re not allowed visitors; a bit like a prison.’ She laughed. ‘If nobody gets in, nobody can steal our scoops, that’s what they reckon. What time is it?’ She checked her watch. ‘One thirty already! Christ, I haven’t eaten yet, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s settled then. You can take me to lunch. There isn’t much around here, but there’s a wine bar not too far. Do you have a car?’

‘No, I came by taxi.’

‘Well, wait at the gate and I’ll bring my car round. Okay?’

‘Fine.’

‘Martin …?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s good to hear your voice.’

Click. The connection went dead.

‘Coming down, is she, sir?’ asked the first guard. Hepton nodded. ‘Nobody’s allowed in, you see,’ the guard went on. ‘Security.’

‘Bloody daft if you ask me,’ rejoined the second guard, cupping his hands around his mug. The first guard now took off his cap and sat down.

‘Ours not to reason why,’ he said.

Hepton nodded agreement, but he wasn’t about to complete the couplet.

The guard operated the barrier from inside the gatehouse, while Hepton slid into the reassuringly familiar seat of Jilly’s red MG sports car. She leaned across to peck him on the cheek, then waved towards the gatehouse and revved the car out onto the main road.

‘You look great!’ Hepton shouted above the wind and the sound of the engine.

‘So do you,’ Jilly replied. ‘You never used to dress like that.’

Hepton examined his newly purchased clothes. ‘I’m on holiday.’

‘In London?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you thought you’d surprise me. How lovely.’ The smile left her face. ‘I did mean to get in touch, Martin. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. But …’

‘Forget it.’ He tried to steel himself; this wasn’t the time to become emotional. ‘So how’s the job?’

‘Oh, fine.’ But her voice had taken on a false edge.

‘Really?’ he prompted.

‘Well, no … not really. In fact, it’s awful. I seem to get all the shitty jobs to do, all the really boring things. I think the editor likes the idea of me, he just doesn’t like me. If that makes any sense.’

Hepton nodded. ‘It makes sense.’ He could no longer contain his next question, his first real question. ‘Have you heard anything from Mike Dreyfuss?’

‘No, nothing, I sent some flowers to the hospital in Sacramento, but I don’t know if they arrived. Did you know they’d taken him to Sacramento? They tried to keep it a secret, but our sister paper in the States found out.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Mickey.’

‘Yes. I’m trying to get in touch with him.’

‘With Mickey? But why?’

So he told her.