'I hear they're getting you ready for the Decathlon.'

Bret looked gratified by this silly compliment. He smiled the shy fleeting smile that he'd used on the best-shaped girls from the typing pool and rubbed his face. Three hours a day but it pays off. In just the last two months I'm really getting back into shape,' he said. He climbed out of his machine and wiped his forehead with a towel.

'Sounds grim.'

'And with an ex-Marine Corps medic to put you through it, it is grim,' said Bret with that proud masochistic relish that all men are prone to at times. 'I even went skiing.'

'Not bad!'

' Sun Valley. Just a weekend. Easy slopes: no black runs or double diamonds.' He shook my hand and gripped it tight. For a moment we stood looking at each other. Despite all our ups and downs I liked him and I suppose he knew that. Three years ago when he'd really been in trouble it was me he came to and for some stupid reason that I could not fathom I was proud of that. But Bret had spent too much of his life with the rich and powerful, and he'd developed the hard carapace that all such people use to hide their innermost feelings. He smiled as he let go of my hand and punched my arm gently. 'Jesus Christ! It's good to see you, Bernard. How is everything in the Department?'

'We're managing, but only just.'

'But Dicky never got Europe?'

'No.'

'Well, that's just as well. He's not ready for that one yet. How are you getting along with the Deputy? I hear he's kicking ass.' He indicated that I should sit down on the bench and I did so.

'We see a lot more of him,' I admitted.

'That's good. A Deputy with a knighthood hasn't got so much to work for,' said Bret. 'I suppose he wants to show he's keen.'

'He didn't get the K for working in the Department,' I pointed out.

'Is that a cry from the heart?' said Bret, and laughed a sober little laugh that didn't strain his muscles.

I hadn't meant to criticize the Deputy's lack of experience but it reminded me that a chat with Bret was like a session on a polygraph. And as soon as the subject of honours and titles came up Bret's face took on a predatory look. It always amazed me that educated and sophisticated people such as Bret, Dicky and Frank were so besotted by these incongruous and inconvenient devices. But that's how the system worked: and at least it cost the taxpayer nothing. 'The Deputy will be all right,' I said. 'But a lot of people don't like new ideas, no matter who's selling them.'

'Frank Harrington for instance,' said Bret.

He'd hit it right on the nose, of course. Frank – so near to retirement – would oppose change of any sort. 'I get to hear things, Bernard. Even over here I get to know what's going on. The D-G tells me what's what.'

'The D-G does?'

'Not personally,' said Bret.

'We hardly ever see him nowadays,' I said. 'Everyone says he's sick and going to retire early.'

'And let the Deputy take over… Yes, I hear the same stories, but I wouldn't write the D-G out of the script too early. The old devil likes to be a back-seat driver.'

'I should come out here and talk to you more often, Bret,' I said admiringly.

'Maybe you should, Bernard,' he said. 'Sometimes an onlooker sees the game more clearly than the players.'

'But do any of the team take advice from the stands?'

'That's the same old Bernard I used to know,' he said in a manner which might, or might not, have been sarcastic. 'And your lovely Gloria? Is that still going strong?'

'She's a good kid,' I said vaguely enough for him to see that I didn't want to talk about it.

'I heard you'd set up house with her.'

Damn him, I thought, but I kept my composure. 'I rented the town house and got a mortgage on a place in the suburbs.'

'You can never go wrong with real estate,' he said.

'I'll go wrong with it if my father-in-law turns nasty,' I said. 'He guaranteed the mortgage. Even the bank doesn't know I'm renting it yet.'

'That will be all right, Bernard. Maybe they'll inch your payments up but they won't give you a bad time.'

'Half the house belongs to Fiona. If her father claimed it on her behalf I'd be into a legal wrangle.'

'You did get legal advice?' he asked.

'No, I'm trying not to think about it.'

Bret pulled a face of disapproval. People like Bret got legal advice before taking a second helping of carbohydrates. 'The Department would help,' said Bret in that authoritative way he was inclined to voice his speculations.

'We'll see,' I said. I was in fact somewhat fortified by his encouragement, no matter how flimsy it was.

'You don't think Fiona might come back?' he said. He put on a cardigan. The sun had gone now and there was a drop in the temperature.

'Come back!' I said. 'How could she? She'd mid herself in the Old Bailey.'

'Stranger things have happened,' said Bret. 'How long has she been away?'

'A long while.'

'Bide your time,' said Bret. 'You're not thinking of getting married again are you?'

'Not yet,' I said.

He nodded. 'Come back to me,' said Bret. 'Any problem about the house or your father-in-law, or anything like that, you come back to me. Phone here; leave a number where I can reach you. Understand?'

'Why you, Bret? I mean thanks. But why you?'

'Ever hear of the Benevolent Fund?' said Bret, and without waiting for me to say no I hadn't, he added, They recently made me the President of the Fund. It's an honorary title but it gives me a chance to keep in touch. And the Fund is for this kind of problem.'

'Benevolent Fund?'

'These problems are not of your making, Bernard. Sure your wife defected but there's no way that can be laid at your door. It's the Department's problem and they'll do what they can.' He stopped studying his fingernails for long enough to give me a sincere look straight in the eyes.

I said, 'I envy you your faith in the Department's charity and understanding, Bret. Maybe that's what keeps you going.'

'It comes with being an Anglophile, Bernard.' He put both hands in his pockets and grinned. 'And talking about your marriage, what do you hear about Fiona?'

'She's working for the other side,' I said stolidly. He knew I didn't want to discuss any of this but it didn't deter him. I'd been hoping to hear why he'd been playing possum all this time, but he was obviously unwilling to confide in me.

'No messages? Nothing? She must miss the children.'

I said, 'She'd be crazy to have the children there with her. It wouldn't be good for them, and her new bosses would hold the children ransom if she ever strayed out of line.'

'Fiona is probably trusted, Bernard. She gave up a lot: children, husband, family, home, career. She gave up everything. It's my guess they trust her over there.' He fiddled with the controls of the exercise bicycle. It was like Bret; he always had to fidget with something. Always had to interfere, his critics said. He pushed the pedal down so that the mechanism made a noise. 'But a lot of people find it impossible to live over there. Don't give up hope yet.'

'Well, I guess you didn't have me come all the way to California to talk about Fiona,' I said.

He looked up sharply. Years back I'd suspected him of having an affair with Fiona. They seemed to enjoy each other's company in a way that I envied. I was no longer jealous – we'd both lost her – but my suspicion, and his awareness of it, cast a shadow upon our relationship. 'Well in a way, yes I did.' Big smile. 'I had some papers for London. Someone had to come, and they sent you, which makes me very happy.'

'Don't give me all that shit,' I said. 'I'm grown up now. If there's something to say, say it and get it over with.'

'What do you mean?'

'What do I mean? I'll tell you what I mean. First, Harry Strang, not being in on the joke, whatever the joke is, told me that I was assigned at the particular request of the Washington Field Unit. Secondly, when I get here and open my suitcase, I find that it's all been searched very carefully. Not hurriedly ransacked and turned over the way a thief does it, or the orderly and systematic "authorized" way customs do it. But turned right over just the same.'