The man from MI5 was of short stature, somewhat rotund, and when he spoke, with a very slight stammer, chins wobbling, I found myself having to listen very carefully as his words came out in little more than a hurried whisper.

'There's no question of anyone wanting you to kill this man, you understand, merely to observe and monitor his movements. As you're probably aware, he was stripped of his knighthood while he was in prison, so is no longer Sir Julian. I also don't have to remind you that he was the co-conspirator in a plan to murder a very senior man in MI5 – your boss at the time.'

'I don't think I shall ever forget it,' murmured Patrick, my husband.

The man, who had introduced himself as Charles Dixon, continued, 'I understand that once released some six months ago he changed his name to Mannering, Julian Mannering, but this doesn't seem to have been done officially as there's no record yet of a deed-poll application. Unofficial sources appear to indicate that it's a stolen identity. We think there's every chance that —'

'Unofficial sources?' Patrick interrupted. If he was offended by the assumption that he would be prepared to remove someone from the land of the living without a blink, he gave no sign of it.

'What I believe you police call "snouts",' Dixon answered with just a hint of distaste. 'It seems that he's consorting with serious criminals, possibly with a view to making money by illegal means.

And that suggests to us that he's thinking of using his considerable fortune, previously accrued by fair means or foul, no one knows but probably the latter, to either buy his way into what I'll call an existing crime set-up or is planning to start something of his own. We're involved because one of the people with whom he consorts was a member of parliament until she lost her seat at the last election. She was on several committees, one of which was involved with national security, and questions were being asked about her too. But she's out of politics now and the situation's changed. That's where you come in.'

'I no longer work for MI5,' Patrick said.

I have discovered over the past few years that this is actually debatable – that is, I think he does, sometimes, very, very quietly, the occasional little job. But Dixon need not necessarily know that.

Dixon impatiently shook his head. 'No, but developments point to the situation having become a police matter.'

'I don't take orders from MI5 either.'

Please see the above.

'I'm not giving you orders. Those will come from the usual sources – your usual sources. The deciding factor is that you've already met him when he and another man by the name of Nicholas Haldane endeavoured to enact revenge on your then MI5 superior Richard Daws. This was following some past action of Daws that caused the knighted banker huge resentment.'

'That dated back to the time they were both in the army and the illustrious gentleman was discovered to have been embezzling mess funds,' Patrick told him. 'Worse than that, and although there was no evidence, he was suspected of having then been involved in the death of the junior officer who found out and reported him and whose sports car went off the road after the brakes failed a short while later. Despite his protestations of non-involvement at the time – the brake pipes had been tampered with – Daws was so angry he threatened to have him shot. An accident on the firing range, naturally.'

'But I understand he subsequently admitted to the crime.'

'Yes, he did. When he thought he'd got away with it.'

'Major, eventually, weren't you?'

'Lieutenant colonel.'

'I understand Daws recruited you into his department in MI5 after you suffered severe injuries serving with Special Forces.'

'That's right.'

'And in the end Haldane was responsible for Daws' death, not that he lived to tell the tale, of course.'

'No, he just happened to be standing in the way when someone fired a couple of loaded cannon at Daws' castle – who in real life had been, as you must be aware, the Fourteenth Earl of Hartwood.'

Dixon had asked us – I work with Patrick on a part-time basis – to meet him in the Francis Hotel in Bath, just a few miles from where we live in the Somerset village of Hinton Littlemoor. I supposed it was good of him not to expect us to go to London but as it was a Friday I reckoned he might be hoping for a weekend away on expenses. I'm not usually so cynical but having worked alongside Patrick for D12, a small department of MI5, some years ago, I approach anything coming from that direction with extreme caution.

I had an idea that Patrick was of the same mindset but his general demeanour still gave nothing away and he sat relaxed in his chair in one of the hotel's lounges as inscrutable as a cat. Being pickled in self-control as a result of early Special Forces training was to his advantage right now as he was deeply grieving the recent death of his father. I shall never forget Elspeth, Patrick's mother, putting her head around the kitchen door that morning when we were having an early cup of tea and whispering, 'Patrick, I think John's dead.'

He had died in his sleep and it had been a week before Christmas.

'What are these developments you mentioned?' I asked Dixon.

'We've been informed that the ex-MP in question has been seen with people who, in view of her suspected continuing contacts with people in government, is worrying.'

'Criminals, you mean?' They were still watching her then.

'Yes, criminals. One of whom is Mannering. Another is a man who operates under the name of Herman Grünberg but there's no need for you to concern yourself with him right now.' He turned to Patrick. 'I think, eventually, it will become necessary for you to speak with Mannering. We would need to find out what he's doing – in case a foreign country's involved.'

Patrick said, 'There are several very large holes in any proposal regarding my getting involved with this. First, you say you want him watched, monitored, mentioning that I've met him. It's very difficult to get close to someone in covert fashion if there's a risk of them recognizing you, thereby jeopardizing the operation. And my days of disguising myself as down-and-outs, fencing contractors and general jacks-of-all-trades are definitely over. Second, any speaking to him regarding his intentions – and I take it we, or rather you, are talking about his possibly dabbling on the side in things like selling industrial secrets – is your job, as if there was a criminal sideline such as money laundering the police would probably be content for him to carry on with his activities for a while in order that he could be apprehended together with any lowlife cronies. My last reservation is the most important – that I was personally involved with the crime insofar as Mannering, or whatever the hell the man's calling himself these days, had kidnapped my young son and was responsible for rather a lot of assault and battery being inflicted on me personally. Police protocols will not allow me to do as you ask. Not only that, this man is little better than a common criminal and can be dealt with by any number of undercover cops. No.'

Dixon drank some of his coffee, possibly to plan his next move. It seemed unlikely that he had thought Patrick would be a pushover. When you have been headhunted by MI5 and then by the Serious Organised Crime Agency – before it was subsumed into the National Crime Agency – a certain reputation is involved. And now, with Patrick at an age when we had discussed his retiring not just from such a potentially hazardous job but retiring full stop, I guessed the last thing he wanted to do was get within spitting distance of the man I remembered as a ruthless and insufferably pompous bore.

'I think you will be given relevant orders,' Dixon said, finally.

Patrick sighed. 'I really don't think your superiors have hoisted in the present situation as far as I'm concerned either. As of the middle of last year I'm the NCA officer with the Avon and Somerset force – "embedded" they call it. What goes on anywhere else is not my concern unless it spills out into this area.'

'Oh, I didn't say, did I? This man now lives in the village of Upper Mossley, which I believe is some miles from here but still just about in Somerset.'

'And he's consorting with serious criminals where?'

'In London. He commutes perhaps twice a week, sometimes three times. I've been told that he drives to Bradford on Avon and leaves his car in the station car park.'

I said, 'You've just intimated that Patrick will get orders. Why have you come down to interview us first?'

'To warn you.'

'Warn us?' Patrick said.

'Convicted and jailed for attempted murder or not, he has several friends in positions of power.'

Patrick was probably thinking 'not another one' but said, 'I can only thank you for that then and say that I shall await developments.'

'I'm sure you'll be given more details. And be very careful.'

'Tell me,' Patrick said very quietly, 'is this visit of yours official?' Dixon gazed out of the window for several moments. 'Er ... no.'

We thanked him for the coffee and left but, thinking we might need to get in touch with him again, I went back and asked him for his contact details. He gave me his card.

'A little worrying,' I commented a few minutes later when we were walking through Queen's Square, chilly January drizzle in our faces.

'Yes, I take warnings from MI5 very seriously. I'm also surprised that he admitted he acted unofficially.'

'But someone must have asked him to come. I mean, you don't know him, do you?'

'Never even met the guy before. But don't imagine for one moment that it's his real name.'

'Such a funny little man, though.'

'The perfect spy.' This was followed by what I can only call an ironic snort.

Nicholas Haldane was dead but simply wouldn't lie down.

This episode was largely forgotten, by me anyway, and we continued to help and support Elspeth. There are always a lot of formalities to deal with after a bereavement – the funeral had taken place a week earlier – and Patrick spent a lot of time with his mother going through the extensive paperwork and personal effects of a man who had never had a computer nor thrown anything away if he thought that, one day, it might come in useful. Nor, it soon became obvious, had poor John had any inkling of his death even though taking medication for heart problems, as his engagements diary, that is the one for church and parish matters, was fairly full for the immediate future and it was only the second week of the year. Sorting all that out entailed making quite a lot of phone calls to those who hadn't heard of his demise, a job which I undertook myself.

'He did rather ignore how he was feeling,' Elspeth said when we got home to the old rectory and I had called in to the annexe with some flowers for her. 'I'm sure he thought that he could mentally tell his body how to behave. Mind over matter doesn't work when you get older, though, does it?' Tears threatened but she fought them away, proving that it did. 'A couple called while you were out. The man said his name was Simon Graves and he introduced his wife, Natasha. Apparently he's a churchman and soon to be helping with the services here for a while. He was asking about accommodation. Naturally, I told them the church would arrange that for them.'

There was something about her manner that made me ask, 'I get the impression you didn't like these people very much.'

'No, they made me feel uneasy – but that's probably me being out of touch, old fashioned and a fogey.' She thanked me for the flowers and went off to find a vase for them.

Elspeth is none of those things. I called after her, 'Are you having lunch with us? I've enough smoked salmon and freshly baked bread rolls for all of us.'

'Thank you, lovely, but I do seem to be living with you at the moment. I have to get over this on my own, you know.'

'Your company helps Patrick,' I said simply. I also wanted him to talk to her about her visitors as the way she had spoken about them had left me feeling uneasy too.

We sat in the conservatory to have lunch, a deliberate ploy of mine as through the courtyard archway Elspeth could see into the garden she had created all those years ago from what had been little more than a rough paddock and cabbage patch. I still regard it as hers and, although I plant up the various pots and other containers around the outside of the house, I always consult her if I think any particular tree or shrub needs attention or to be replaced. Patrick involves himself with pruning the fruit trees and growing vegetables when he has the time and a man is employed to cut the grass and hedges and do the heavy digging. This system works very well and on one weekend during early summer the garden, together with others in the village, is open to the public in aid of local charities.

'Ingrid said something about your having visitors,' Patrick said lightly to his mother after lunch and some general conversation.

'The Graveses,' Elspeth said gloomily. 'They didn't seem to understand that this place is now a private house, including my home in the annexe, and not the official rectory. The woman asked, not rudely though, when I thought I could move out so they could live here.'

'Bloody hell!' Patrick exclaimed, immediately apologizing. 'I think that's damned rude. Look, if they come back do please refer them to me – or Ingrid, if I'm not here.'

'Oh, I will,' she promised. 'And this evening I've planned dinner for Matthew and Katie just as we used to on Fridays before ... John ... died. As you know, I love having them.'

She went off to have what she called her 'zizz'.

Patrick caught my eye and said, 'I shall research the Graveses as I have one of your funny feelings about them.'

There was no sign of either of them with regard to the following Sunday services however, morning Communion being taken by a retired vicar now living in Norton St Philip. The pair assumed even less importance when on Monday morning, early and just as he was setting off for work, Patrick got a phone call from Detective Chief Inspector James Carrick of Bath CID, a friend of ours.

'He needs to talk to me in his office at nine thirty,' Patrick reported. 'He didn't go into details but if it's about this Mannering character –if – it's probably a good idea for you to come along as well.'

As already stated, I worked with Patrick in his MI5 days and also do for the NCA now, although my role, officially that of 'consultant', is not on the scale it used to be. This is mostly because we have five children, three of our own – Justin, Vicky and baby Mark – and we adopted Matthew and Katie, who are older, a few years ago after Patrick's brother Laurence was killed. Their mother, always 'recovering' from alcohol and drug addiction, wants nothing more to do with them which is, frankly, a relief to everyone.

In between all these demands on my time I endeavour to write and have had several crime novels published, one of which was made into a film – a rather bad one. Right now I was roughly halfway through my current effort but couldn't see myself tackling it again any time soon.

Elspeth had been adamant that the family celebration of Christmas must not be curtailed in any way on account of John's death, saying that such a move would have horrified him as it was about something far more important than he himself. Nevertheless, the three eldest children were downhearted because of his absence and Vicky had been asking where 'Gan-Gan' was for days. John had not been the sort of man to romp with his grandchildren and, always heavily involved with church matters, can best be described as having been a benevolent presence in our lives and, if necessary, a harbour in any storms. Later, on Christmas Day, I had found Katie in tears in her bedroom saying that she couldn't bear the thought of him in a 'fridge' in a mortuary while they were enjoying themselves. I had felt a bit out of my depth but tried to explain that it was only Grandad's body that was in the fridge, not the lovely man he had been. He was somewhere much better and one could only call it heaven.

Carrick offered us his condolences again – he and his wife Joanna had attended the funeral – and then, glaring through the window at the murky morning as though taking the gloomy state of affairs personally, said, 'I understand that you've been briefed about a man calling himself Julian Mannering.'

'It was hardly a briefing,' Patrick replied. 'More a warning that something potentially nasty is going to land in my in-tray. I'm thinking of emigrating to New Zealand.'