Later, as we stood on the pavement outside the hotel I heard the first rumbles and, cursed with flippancy even in bad moments, it occurred to me that this could be the backdrop for a scene in a rather tacky movie. Even our surroundings, one of the finer terraces in Bath, would have had a locations manager bouncing up and down with joy. And here stood the hero and heroine, I thought glumly, still not at ease with one another, he thinking she was silent on account of the presence of an old flame, or damp squib, whichever way you looked at it, she desperately wondering how to break the stalemate. We were still standing there fifteen minutes later, getting restless, the storm coming closer, when Patrick’s mobile rang. It soon became obvious that it was Commander Michael Greenway, his boss. Nothing too exciting by the sound of it, just making contact. The call ended. ‘Good of him to ring,’ I commented. ‘Yes.’ ‘Did he say anything about any job he might have for you?’ ‘No.’ ‘How long do you think we ought to wait here?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘She’s probably still asleep.’ A grunt.
