'As he would say, you young bastard.' "I've got a great idea. I hear that fringe theatre the Old Red Lion, is doing this Brendan Behan play about the IRA called The Hostage.' "A masterpiece.'

'Great. Let's go and see it. It'll fill in the evening… and maybe I'll learn something about you.'

'You're on,' Dillon said.

As a performance, it was a huge success, and afterwards in the bar, they discussed and argued about the points Behan had made. Joe Baxter, who had driven them to the Old Red Lion and been forced to watch the play, sat there, bemused.

They dropped Dillon off at Stable Mews and Billy phoned Harry at Rosedene.

'I hope I haven't called too late?'

'I can't sleep, Billy. I've been in bed too long. Now what happened with Dillon? I expected you to get back to me.'

'Well, I saw him for lunch at the pub and he was full of going down there, like you said, but there was a development this evening.'

'What kind of development?'

'Well, Ferguson warned him off going down to the funeral, and when Dillon wouldn't promise to do as he was told, he had him lifted by Special Branch. Something about Dillon's record with the IRA.'

'But Ferguson had that wiped clean when Dillon agreed to work for him.'

'Yes, well, he's had him banged up.' Billy warmed to his story. 'They've got him at West End Central. At least they've got decent cells there.'

Harry Salter was outraged. 'Bloody disgraceful. Ferguson gave his word to Dillon when he got him out of that Serb prison.'

'Yes, well, he's upper class, the General,' Billy said. 'It's the class system, Harry. The country's still riddled with it.'

'And we're supposed to be the bad guys?' Harry was fuming. 'Wait till I see Ferguson again, and I thought he was a true Brit.'

'Harry, this is bad for your blood pressure. Have a decent night's sleep. I'll call in tomorrow.'

The following morning at Stable Mews, Dillon dressed carefully, as he'd told Billy, a black suit, white shirt, black tie.

'Jesus, son,' he said, looking at himself in the mirror. 'You look like you're auditioning for a part as a Mafia hit man in Godfather Four.' He frowned and said softly, 'Is that what it's all about, the theatre of the street? Was that it, Belfast from the very beginning, all those years?'

The doorbell rang. He went down to the hall, found an Armani duster coat in black and the weaponry bag. When he opened the door, Billy was there, black suit and tie, curiously elegant. Baxter stood against the Jaguar in uniform.

'Hey, you're looking great,' Billy said.

Dillon opened the weaponry bag and took out a titanium waistcoat. 'As you know, this thing will stop a Forty-Five at point-blank range. I've already got mine on under my shirt. Come in the cloakroom and put this one on, Billy. We'll wait.'

'If you say so.'

Billy went into the cottage and Dillon nodded to Baxter. 'Open the boot, Joe.'

Baxter obliged. Dillon put the weaponry bag and his coat in, and opened the bag. From the assortment of weapons, he produced a Browning and a silencer.

'With luck, you might not need it, Joe, but on the other hand…'

Baxter smiled coldly. 'Who knows?' He opened the driver's door, reached for the glove compartment and slipped the weapon inside. A moment later, Billy came out, another coat on his arm.

'I figured this was for me, Dillon.'

'It could rain,' Dillon said.

'Great. Mind you, on the other hand you could put an Uzi in one of these pockets. I like walking in the rain. It puts you in your own private world. Let's go.'

They got in the rear and Baxter drove away.

Harry sat up in bed, Dora beside him eating a boiled egg and toast fingers. He'd had a sleepless night, so it was already mid-morning. He said, 'Get me the office. I want to speak to Billy.'

She tried, then turned, phone in hand. 'Billy isn't there. It's Sam Hall.'

Harry reached for the phone. 'Where is he, Sam?'

'There was a problem with the booze consignment and he's been called to Southampton.'

'Well, he might have told me. I'll call him on his mobile.'

Hall, panicky, said, 'I just found it on his desk, Harry.'

'Stupid young bugger. Okay, if he rings in, tell him to contact me.'

Still a major in the Army Reserve, Paul Rashid was entitled to wear uniform on appropriate occasions, and as he pulled on his tunic and adjusted the Grenadier Guards buttons in front of his dressing table mirror, his medals made a brave show. He picked up his dress cap and went out.

The centre of Dauncey Place upstairs was a great circular minstrel gallery; all the main rooms led off;:. A stairway went down to the Great Hall, and above, the curving staircase of the Bell Tower lifted above the old house. Paul adjusted his cap and went down the stairs and found Kate standing by the fireplace, logs burning. Betty Moody stood nearby in a black suit.

Betty came forward, reached up and kissed his cheek. 'Oh, Paul, how wonderful you look.'

'Well, it's the least I could do for the boys. One Para wanted to send an honour guard and a bugler for George, but as I told you, Kate and I want it muted this time.'

'I only came to check the final arrangements. The buffet at the pub is set up and the champagne. You do want champagne?'

'We're celebrating their lives,' Rashid told her. 'But later? You said you didn't want anyone up at the house, not even servants.'

'Kate and I will leave the buffet early after saying hello to everyone. We want to be quiet, we want to be alone.'

'Of course. I'll go now. I'll see you later.' She went out, and the great door clanged. Kate wore a black jacket with a black jumpsuit underneath, a gold chain round her throat, and diamond earrings.

'You look very nice,' he said.

'And you look wonderful. A true hero.'

'It would be nice to think so, little sister. Shall we go?'

They took the Range Rover from the stable block, Kate driving, went down the long drive, turned to the village and parked by the green. A few vehicles were already there.

They got out and moved to the door of the Dauncey Arms, passing the parked Jaguar, Joe Baxter already beside it in his uniform. There were many people, mostly locals, in the saloon bar, and amongst them Dillon and Billy standing by the fireplace in their black suits and duster coats.

Kate gave a sharp intake of breath. 'He came.'

'Didn't you think he would?' Rashid moved through the crowd with her, grasping hands, thanking people for coming.

'Glad you could make it, Dillon.'

'A great performance,' Dillon said to him.

'Glad you approve. I love the coats. Amazing what will go in those big pockets. And very considerate of you to bring your friend here.'

'What do you want to do, pay me off for Rama? Do what you did to Bronsby?' Billy shook his head. 'Just try, that's all I ask.'

Kate said, 'Paul, let's go.'

Betty came up, frowning. 'Is there a problem?'

'Not at all. These gentlemen are friends of mine.' Rashid smiled. 'Buffet and champagne afterwards.' Betty turned away. 'And then I'll expect you at Dauncey Place, if that's your pleasure.'

'Well, it's certainly my bleeding pleasure,' Billy told him.

'Excellent. I look forward to it. Come on, Kate.' And they turned away.

People started to filter into the church from eleven o'clock. Still, only a few limousines were outside this time, unlike the old Earl's funeral and Lady Kate's. As Rashid had arranged it, the great and the good were virtually excluded although, as before, one of the most important Imams in London had agreed to appear with the Rector, a measure of the liberality of the Muslim religion not often appreciated by outsiders.

Dillon moved in, with Billy. People were seating themselves, others walking around examining the marble edifices of the long dead. Billy was walking ahead, joining in. He suddenly paused, then motioned to Dillon.