'Damn!  You mean it wasn't an original idea?  Hell's teeth, Telman.  No wonder they guessed.  Never watched the programme myself.  Serves me right for not being more into popular culture, I guess.  One of those FBI bozos must have seen the same episode as you, Telman.  Maybe we haven't got a turncoat here, after all.'

'Maybe not.'

'So, Telman, what's up?'

'Freddy Ferrindonald, Jeb.'

'Oh, yeah.  Sorry to hear about that.  You there for the funeral?'

'Yes, it's just finished.'

'So, Telman.  Thulahn.  Hazleton says you told the Prince to go to hell.  That true?'

'No, Jeb.  I just refused his offer of marriage.'

'Same thing to a guy, Telman.  You going to tell me old Suvinder don't feel like he's been kicked in the teeth?'

'I hope he doesn't feel that.  We parted on what I thought were very good terms.'

'Telman, any guy with a nickel's worth of brain cells thinks long and hard before asking a girl to marry him, and if he isn't only asking because he's got her pregnant and he feels he ought to ask then he gets nervous as hell worrying about what she's going to say.  This guy's a prince: not only has he got his own future to think of, he's got the future of his whole damn country to think about too.  Plus, the way the people round him see it, and probably him too, is he's doing you a big favour and making a huge sacrifice even thinking about asking you, because you're not some princess or lady or something.  You're a Level Three exec.  You're probably a lot better off than the Prince but that doesn't seem to be what matters to these people.  It's breeding.  Pile of horse manure if you ask me, but that's the way it is and the fact remains that even if we bumped you up to Level Two you'd still be just some kid out of a project in Scotland.'

'Schemes.  We call them schemes in Scotland, Jeb.  But I take the point.  However, I think I let Suvinder down as gently as possible and I hope we'll still be friends.'

'Hooey, frankly, Telman.'

'You don't think that's possible?'

'I doubt it.  You've wounded the man's pride.  And if and when the Prince does get hitched and you're around, no self-respecting wife's going to let him stay buddies with you.'

'Well, I may not be there, anyway.  I'm still thinking about whether to take the post in Thulahn or not.'

'So I hear.  Well, don't take for ever, okay?  We ain't got that long.  So.  What you going to do now?'

'I'm going to ask you if you know what happens to Fenua Ua once we complete the deal with Thulahn.'

'Jesus wept, Telman.  You be careful what you're saying, will you?  This call might be encrypted or whatever you call it but —'

'What happens, Jeb?'

'What do you mean what happens?  Nothing happens.  That bunch of food-coupon-grabbing good-for-nothing welfare dumbasses get whatever they can from the US, the French and the Brits before the dung hits the fan, we get the hell out and they go back to incest and alcoholism.  Why the hell are you so concerned about them all of a sudden?  Jesus, Telman, you haven't gone soft on us just because you saw a few sherpas and their cute little kids, have you?  You might get to be our representative to Thulahn, Telman, you ain't our ambassador to the fucking UN.  Goddamnit, Telman!  Now you've got me swearing!  What the hell's wrong with you!'

'Jeb?  Mr Dessous?'

'What?'

'I suspect we're getting Couffabled.'

There was a near silence at the other end of the line.  Listening carefully through the odd lilt of white noise the scrambling circuit added to the connection, I could just hear Dessous breathing.  I hadn't even been sure that he would recognise the name of the French exec who'd cheated the Business out of what it saw as rightly its own, over a century ago.  Obviously he did.  He cleared his throat.  'You serious, Telman?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Okay.  So, how significant is the operation?'

'It's at your level, Jeb.'

Another pause. 'The hell it is, huh?'

'I thought maybe you were in on it, but now I don't think you are.'

'Uh-huh.'

'But I don't know enough yet.  And I can't start accusing anybody.  I just wanted someone to know.'

'I see.  Well.  You be careful what you're getting into there, Telman.'

'I'm trying to be.'

In the evening, after the funeral and after all the rest of the mourners had left, Miss Heggies and I sat up round the fire in the little living room just off the main kitchen, drinking whisky and reminiscing.

Madame Tchassot had been chauffeured back to Leeds-Bradford and her Lear jet, the locals had retreated to the pub where Uncle F had put a couple of grand behind the bar for them to have a proper wake to mourn his passing, and Mrs Watkins had returned to her Leeds hotel.  Freddy's few relations, all distant, had made themselves so, despite having been invited to stay.  I got the impression Miss H was relieved they hadn't accepted.  I hoped I wasn't spoiling things by being the only one to stay, and — after a couple of drams — I said as much.

'Oh, you're no trouble, Ms Telman.' (I'd suggested we might try first names, but Miss H had seemed almost girlishly embarrassed, and shaken her head.) 'It's always been a pleasure to have you here.'

'Even the time I got stuck in the dumb-waiter?'

'Ah, well, you weren't the first, or the last.'

This had happened the second time I'd been brought to Blysecrag by Mrs Telman, when I'd been ten.  The first time I'd been so stunned and awestruck by the place I'd barely dared to sit down.  When I'd visited a second time I'd been a lot more blasé, and had decided to explore.  The dumb-waiter I'd elected to do some of my exploring in had got stuck and it took several strong men a couple of hours to rescue me.  Uncle Freddy had thought it was all quite a hoot and had sent down supplies of cakes and lemonade (to my intense embarrassment, he'd also hollered down that I was just to shout out if I needed a chamber-pot lowered to me, too).

'Has anyone ever explored every single nook and cranny of this place?'

'Mr Ferrindonald did, when he first bought it,' Miss Heggies said.  'And I think I have.  Though I'm not sure you can ever be certain.'

'You never get lost?'

'Not for years.  Sometimes I have to think where I am, mind.' Miss Heggies sipped at her whisky. 'Mr Ferrindonald used to tell me he knew of secret passages that he wasn't telling me about, but I think he was just teasing me.  He always said he'd leave the map in his will, but, well…'

'I'm going to miss Freddy,' I said.

Miss Heggies nodded. 'He could be a rascal sometimes, but he was a good employer.  And a friend to me.' She looked sad.

'Were you glad he never married?'

She looked sharply at me. 'Glad, Ms Telman?'

'I'm sorry.  I hope you don't mind me asking.  I just always felt that this was almost as much your house as his, and if he'd brought a wife here, well, you'd have had to share the place with her too.'

'I hope I'd have got on as well with her as I did with him,' Miss Heggies said, only a little defensively. 'I suppose it would have depended on the wife, but I would have done my best.'

'What if Uncle Freddy had married Mrs Watkins?  Could you have got on with her?'

She looked away. 'I think so.'

'She seemed pleasant enough, I thought.'

'Yes.  Pleasant enough.'

'Do you think she loved him?'

Miss Heggies drew herself up in her chair and smoothed her hair with one hand. 'I really wouldn't be able to say, Ms Telman.'

'I hope she did, don't you?  It would be good to know that someone loved him.  Everyone should have that.'

She was silent for a while. 'I think many of us did, in our various ways.'

'Did you, Miss Heggies?'

She sniffed, and looked into her whisky glass. 'I had a lot of affection for the old rogue.  Whether you'd call it love, I don't know.' She looked me in the eye. 'We were never…linked, Ms Telman.' She looked at the ceiling and around the walls. 'Except by this place.'