Davenport's home was a large detached house on a leafy Elstree avenue. Not stables-round-the-back-and-servants'-quarters large, but big enough for London. A classic Rover sat on the drive, cuddling up to a newish Mini and an ancient VW Beetle. Presumably the double garage was filled with too much junk to park the cars in, though in this neighbourhood it wouldn't be so much junk as antiques or chic-kitsch. When Shades rang the bell the door was answered by a middle-aged woman immaculately presented, despite the bright yellow rubber gloves.

"Hello?" she asked, polite enquiry on her face.

"Hi. We've an appointment with Mister Davenport." Shades treated the woman to his award-winning smile.

"Oh? I'm sorry, but he's not here at the moment. But come in." She stepped aside, holding the door wide. "He's meant to keep the diary up to date, but honestly, he'd not turn up to his own funeral unless someone reminded him. Still, Allen will keep him on his toes, I'm sure."

"We made the appointment this afternoon. Perhaps he didn't have a chance to update it." Ess and Shades filed into the hallway and the woman closed the door behind them.

"Probably. Please, this way." She led them into a living room the size of Ess' entire flat. "Take a seat. I'll give him a bell and see where he is. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?"

The pair demurred.

"I'll give him a phone." She reached into her pockets and seemed to notice the rubber gloves for the first time. "Sorry. Sink's backed up. I tell Portia to clean her riding boots out the back but she will insist on rinsing them off in the sink." She pulled them off, reached into a pocket and produced a phone. She removed an ear-ring and held it to her ear.

"Peter? Peter, there's a couple of people here to see you..." She gave Ess and Shades an appraising look. "Yes, that's right... Well, it's just not good enough, Darling. You should tell me, and you should be here when you said you would. I might have been in the bath..." She turned away and dropped her voice. "Don't be vulgar," but her tone contradicted her words. "Well, what shall I say?... All right, I'll tell them. Bye."

She replaced the phone, turned back to her guests and smiled. "I'm so terribly sorry. He's on his way. Some meeting or other overran. Allen's driving him back and he'll be here in ten minutes. Please, don't stand around, you're making the place look untidy. Sit, sit."

They sat. As Ess sank into the leather couch it squelched and screeched. Missus Davenport seemed to be unaware that her guests sounded as though their bowels were exploding. Perhaps she didn't hear the couch anymore. Perhaps she was too refined to show she acknowledged the fact her couch farted at the slightest movement. It didn't help Ess to relax in any case.

"Please, let me get you something. I've Earl Grey and Lapsang Souchong. It's from a tea merchant just down the road. Not tea bags. We've got a coffee machine, but that's Peter's toy really. You need an engineering degree just to change the filter."

""An Earl Grey, then," said Ess, more because their host needed to be seen to be hosting than Ess' thirst.

"Sounds good," said Shades.

Missus Davenport beamed. "I'll be back in a mo," she said, turned and left the room.

Shades did his observational thing. He probably wasn't even aware of it, but some Pavlovian reflex made him survey any new environment. Ess saw him check out the door by which they'd entered, the door leading who knew where on the other side of the room, the windows, the layout of the furniture. It was casual, a couple of seconds concentration you wouldn't have been aware of if you hadn't seen it time and time again, but she was sure that if an armed horde of mercenaries suddenly descended on them Shades would know every escape route and every defendable position without thinking. Not that they were in any danger, he did it to every room they entered. Not for the first time Ess wondered exactly what it was Shades had done before becoming an I'm-not-a-bodyguard personal assistant.

He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Am I safe?"

"Ha! If I wanted a safe girlfriend I'd have chosen, um, well, anyone else, really."

"So long as I know who my competition is. Anyone else, apparently."

"As if anyone could compete with you."

"Yeah, flattery is going to work. I'm still mad at you."

He nodded. "I have a feeling I'm going to have to get used to that."

Before Ess could retort the door opened and Missus Davenport entered, tray in her hands.

"Two Earl Greys. I know you're not meant to, but there's milk and sugar in case you want it." She smiled at Shades. "It's not really a man's drink, I know, so feel free to make it look like a builder's cuppa. And there's some Viennese Whirls."

She sat the tray down on the coffee table. Ess thought Shades might be able to make his tea look like a builder's cuppa, but only if the builder in question slurped his brew from delicate bone china. Although, judging from the neighbourhood, they might do just that.

Tyres scrunched on gravel outside. Ess looked up to see a car stop in the driveway. Davenport and Whitmarsh decamped.

"Finally," said Missus Davenport, in a tone that suggested she and her husband would have a short discussion later on the merits of timekeeping and inter-spousal communication. She turned and left the room.

"Remember," hissed Ess. "I'm doing the talking." It was bad enough he'd tried to sidetrack her off the case. She was damned if she was going to let him take control of this conversation as well.