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'You bastard!' Carver said.

He hurried along to the Granada, the door slammed, it drove away.

Ferguson said, 'Get in, Tony. I presume you can be relied upon to get rid of that truck, Sergeant Major? I won't enquire where it came from.'

'Sir.' Jackson clicked his heels and moved off across the square.

Villiers got into the Bentley beside Ferguson and Fox drove away. Ferguson said, 'You've another week of your leave to go?'

'Officially.'

Ferguson wound down the window and peered out as they rounded the Queen Victoria Memorial at the front of the Palace and went down the Mall.

'Have you seen Gabrielle lately?'

Villiers said calmly, 'No.'

'Is she still at the flat in Kensington Palace Gardens?'

'Some of the time. That one belongs to me. She uses it by arrangement. She has her place in Paris, of course.'

'I was sorry to hear about the divorce.'

'Don't be,' Villiers said flatly. 'The best thing that ever happened to either of us.'

'You really mean that?'

'Oh, yes.'

Ferguson shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, and yet he lowered the window even more so that the cold morning air rushed in.

'Sometimes I wonder what life's all about.'

'Well, don't ask me,' Villiers told him. 'I'm only passing through.'

He folded his arms, leaned back in the corner, closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.

2

Brigadier Charles Ferguson preferred to work when possible from his Cavendish Square flat. It was his especial joy. The Adam fireplace was real and so was the fire which burned there. The rest was Georgian also. Everything matched to perfection, including the curtains. He was sitting by the fire at ten o'clock in the morning after Villiers' exploit at the Palace, reading the Financial Times, when the door opened and his manservant, Kim, an ex-Gurkha naik appeared.

'Mademoiselle Legrand, sir.'

Ferguson removed his half-moon reading glasses, put them down with the paper and stood up. 'Show her in, Kim, and tea for three, please.'

Kim departed and a moment later, Gabrielle Legrand entered the room.

She was, as always, Ferguson told himself, the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She was dressed for riding in boots, faded jodhpurs, white shirt and an old green jacket in Donegal tweed. The blonde hair was held back from the forehead by a scarlet band and rolled up into a bun at the nape of the neck. She regarded him gravely, the wide green eyes giving nothing away, the riding crop she carried in her left hand tapping her knee. She was not small, almost five foot eight in her boots. Ferguson went towards her with a smile of conscious pleasure, hands out-stretched.

'My lovely Gabrielle.' He kissed her cheek. 'No longer Mrs Villiers, I see?'

'No,' she said flatly. 'I'm me again.'

Her voice was English upper class, but with its own timbre that gave it a unique quality. She dropped her crop on the table, went to the window and peered down into the square.

'Have you seen Tony lately?'

'I should have thought you would have,' Ferguson said. 'He's in town. Spot of leave, as I understand it. Hasn't he called at the flat?'

'No,' she said. 'He wouldn't do that, not while I'm there.'

She stayed at the window and Ferguson said gently, 'What went wrong between you two, my love?'

'Everything,' she said, 'and nothing. We thought we were in love one long hot summer five years ago. I was beautiful, he was the best-looking thing in a uniform I ever saw.'

'And then?'

'We didn't gel - it never did. The chemistry was all wrong.' The voice was flat calm and yet he sensed distress there. 'I cared for Tony, still do, but I got angry with him too easily and I never knew why.' She shrugged again. 'Too many spaces we could never fill.'

'I'm sorry,' Ferguson said.

The door opened and Kim entered with a silver tray which he placed by the fire. 'Ah, tea,' Ferguson said. 'Get Captain Fox from the office, Kim.'

The Gurkha went out and Gabrielle sat down by the fire. Ferguson sat opposite