'A damn fine meal, darling,' said Dicky as his wife brought the second pot of coffee and chocolate-covered after-dinner mints. His voice was a fruity imitation of Silas Gaunt, one of the old-tuners of the department. He pushed his cup forward for a refill.

Daphne glanced at him, smiled nervously and poured the hot coffee on to the polished table. I had the feeling that these dinners were nightmares for Daphne. She had been a pushy, self-confident career girl when Dicky married her, but she knew her limitations as a cook and she knew how critical Dicky (onetime President of Oxford University Wine and Food Society) Cruyer could be when he was playing host to people he worked with. Sometimes she seemed physically frightened of Dicky and I knew enough about his sudden fits of bad temper to sympathize.

After a competition to see who could use the most Kleenex tissues to clean up the spilled coffee – which Daphne won by using a large handful of them to conceal and smuggle out of the room a box of very wet cigars – Gloria said, 'You have such a beautiful house, Mrs Cruyer.'

'Daphne. Daphne, for God's sake. It's a pigsty,' said Daphne with modest self-confidence. 'Sometimes it gets me down.'

I looked round to see any sign of the furniture that Daphne had stored in there but it had all been removed. Poor Daphne. Their cars were parked in the street. I suppose all the furniture was now stacked in the garage.

'And lovely to see you both,' said Dicky, passing coffee to Gloria. Dicky put a lot of meaning into the word 'both'; it was almost carnal. She smiled nervously at Dicky and then looked at me. 'Yes,' said Dicky, passing a cup of coffee to me, 'Bernard has talked about you so much.'

'When?' said Gloria. She was no fool. She guessed immediately what was behind Dicky's remarks.

'When we were in Mexico,' said Dicky.

'Mexico City,' I said.

'They call it Mexico,' said Dicky.

'I know,' said Gloria, as if her mind was on other things. 'My mother and father went there two years ago, on a package holiday. They brought back a lot of home movies. That's my father's hobby. It looked awful.' She turned to me and smiled; sweet smile but cold eyes. 'I didn't know you were talking about me when you were in Mexico, Bernard,' she said.

I drank some of my coffee.

Gloria turned her attention to Daphne. 'As long as I don't have to go back to working in Registry, Mrs Cruyer,' she said. 'It's absolute hell.' Daphne nodded. It was brilliant of her to say it to Daphne. Had she said it to Dicky or to me, I think Daphne would have made sure Gloria went back into Registry the following morning. 'Couldn't you ask your husband to let me work somewhere else?'

Daphne looked uncertain. She said, 'I'm sure he'll do what he can, Gloria. Won't you, Dicky?'

'Of course I will,' said Dicky. 'She can work upstairs. There's always extra work to do and I've had to ask Bret Rensselaer to share his secretary with one of the Deputy Desk people. Gloria could help my secretary and Bernard's secretary and do the occasional job for Bret.'

So Dicky was fighting back. Good old Dicky. Share his secretary; that should make Bret retire to a neutral corner and shake the tears from his eyes.

'That would be wonderful, Mr Cruyer,' said Gloria, but she smiled at Daphne. It was becoming clear to me that Gloria had a great career ahead of her. What was that joke about Hungarians going into a revolving door behind you, and coming out ahead of you.

'We're all one happy family in Dicky's department,' I said.

Dicky smiled at me scornfully.

'But we'd better be moving along,' I said. And to meet Dicky's gaze I added, 'Gloria has left her clothes at my place.'

'Oh, doesn't that sound awful,' said Gloria. 'Bernard let me change at his house. My parents live too far away for me to go home to change.'

When we'd said our goodnights and were in my old Ford, Gloria said, 'What nice people they are.'

'Yes,' I said.

'Mr Cruyer is a very interesting man,' she said.

'Do you think so?'

'Don't you?' she said, as if worried that she'd said the wrong thing.

'Very interesting,' I said. 'But I was surprised you got on to that so quickly.'

'He was at Balliol,' she said wistfully. 'All the very brightest people go to Balliol.'

'That's true,' I said.

'Where did you go to, Bernard?'

'You can call me Mr Samson if you like,' I said. 'I didn't go anywhere. I left school when I was sixteen and started work.'

'Not for the department?'

'Sort of,' I said.

'You can't take the Civil Service exam at sixteen.'

'It all happened in a foreign country,' I said. 'My father was the Berlin Resident. I grew up in Berlin. I speak Berlin German like a native. I know the town. It was natural that I should start working for the department. The paperwork was all done afterwards. I never took the selection board.' It sounded more defensive than I had intended it should.

'I got five A levels,' said Gloria proudly. Gone was the femme fatale; all of a sudden she was the sixth-form schoolgirl running home with her school report.

'Here we are,' I said. 'Do you want to come inside and have a drink?'

To my surprise she tilted her head back until it was on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume and the warmth of her body. She said, 'I don't want this evening to end.'

'We'll keep it going as long as possible,' I said. 'Come and have a drink.'

She smiled lazily. She hadn't had much wine or I might have suspected that she was drunk. She put her hand on my arm and turned her face to me. I kissed her on the forehead and opened the door. 'Come along, then.' She giggled and got out of the car. As she slid from the seat her skirt rode up to expose a lot of leg. She tugged at it and smiled modestly.

Once inside the house she sat down on the sofa and again said what a wonderful evening it had been. 'Brandy?' I said. 'Liqueur? Scotch and soda?'

'A very tiny brandy,' she said. 'But I'll miss my last train if we don't go very soon.' I poured two huge Martell brandies and sat down next to her.

'Will your parents worry?' I gave her a decorous kiss on the cheek. 'If you miss your train, would they really worry?'

'Fm a big girl now,' she said.

'You are indeed, Gloria,' I said admiringly. 'You're a wonderful girl.' I put my arm round her and pulled her close. She was soft and warm and big. She was just what I wanted.

'What were you saying about me when you were in Mexico City?' Her voice was dreamy and softened by the way she was nibbling my ear.

'Mexico. You heard what Dicky said. They always call it Mexico.'

She murmured, 'Did you bet Dicky Cruyer that you'd get me into bed?'

'Of course not,' I said.

'You said you'd already had me in bed? Ummm?'

'Good Lord, no,' I said. 'We were talking about staffing. We weren't talking about any one member of the staff in particular. We were talking about the office… the workload.'

She nuzzled her face against my ear. 'You're a terrible liar, Bernard. Did anyone ever tell you that? You are a completely hopeless liar. How did you ever survive as a secret agent?' She was kissing my cheek now. As I hugged her she murmured, 'Admit it, you told Dicky we were lovers.' As she said it she turned her head to offer me her lips and we kissed. When she broke away she purred, 'You did, didn't you?'

'I might have said something that gave him the wrong impression,' I admitted. 'You can see what Dicky's like.'

She kissed me again. 'I must go home,' she said.

'Must you?'

'I must. My parents might worry.'

'You're a big girl now,' I reminded her. But she pushed me away and got to her feet. 'Perhaps some other time,' she said. She was alert now, and I could see she had decided to leave. 'I'll go upstairs and get my bag. But you…' She took me by the hand and pulled me to the front door. 'You will go out and start the car and take me to the station.'