“You were leading the inquisition,” he said.

Janet was glad of the lightness. “So?” she asked.

“I work for the government.”

“Saying that in Washington is like declaring you’re a coalminer in Pennsylvania or brew beer in Milwaukee,” said Janet. She allowed the pause. “Or maybe hinting at something sinister.”

Sheridan smiled, unevenly because he did not appear to have bothered with any dental correction, and said: “Nothing spooky about me…” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, towards the city, and said: “State Department. You know Foggy Bottom?”

Janet nodded, thinking how close the State Department headquarters were to a Georgetown he’d earlier said he didn’t know very well. Whether or not he visited Georgetown was hardly any business of hers, she thought. “Must be interesting,” she said, wishing as she spoke she had managed to avoid the cliche.

He shook his head. “Not at my lowly level,” he said. “General analysis. Long reports that take weeks to prepare and weeks to print for nobody to read.”

“Why bother in the first place?”

“Paperwork is the lifeblood of bureaucracy,” said Sheridan, self-mocking. “I’m just one of the billions of bureaucrats who write billions of unread reports that need huge forests of trees cut down to make the paper to print them on. It’s people like me who make cities possible in the cleared spaces.”

“Thank you,” laughed Janet, trying to respond. She decided, guiltily, that she was enjoying herself and because of that guilt made an immediate qualification. Not actually enjoying herself: relaxing, she thought again. More than she had for a very long time. There was nothing wrong in that: nothing disrespectful to Hank’s memory. Just coming out of seclusion.