He’d wandered away from the group, had faced a fading print of paras in the heat of Aden, snapped more than forty-five years earlier before any of his hosts were born. He’d taken the call and felt perplexed by its brevity, the lack of information, but elated. The mood had stayed with him during the rest of the evening, but there was an early start and he needed some sleep before the wake-up call and the long drive. Now he thanked them, grimaced, and said something about an old dog needing its rest. A major asked him for his card: ‘Difficult to get hold of you, Foxy, through the proper channels. Prevarication and obfuscation at every corner. We’ve really benefited from your time and would like you back. The boys enjoyed it hugely, and learned a great deal.’

‘Delighted to.’ He took out his wallet. He fingered in the pouches for his card and a photograph floated down to the carpet. A lad crouched, picked it up and glanced at it. There was an admiring nod as it was handed back to him. ‘That your daughter, Foxy? Pretty girl.’

He flushed, then pride caught him. ‘My wife, actually.’

‘Lucky you. Congratulations.’

Foxy Foulkes warmed. ‘Yes, we’ve been together seven years – second time round for me and the same for her. Frankly, we make a good pair. She works in navy Procurement in Bath. I think we can say, no hesitation, we’re both happier than we’ve ever been. I’ve felt blessed every day since I met Ellie. We complement each other. As you say, I’m lucky to be with her. Anyway, time for bed, if you don’t mind.’

He wouldn’t call her that night – she didn’t like to be disturbed late if he was away. He would call her in the morning. Truth was, he yearned to call her and drop a hint that it was secret business he was wanted for, but she’d be sharp with him at this time. She would have been impressed, of course, if he’d called her with his news, but it was too late. He couldn’t imagine why he was wanted by Six at short notice and at an airfield. What for? Where?