I lay there, staring into space, wondering what was coming. He had given no hint that I was to be freed, despite his conciliatory tone. ‘Sir’, for God’s sake! Might as well go along with it. Anything was better than this cell.

     I nodded, muttering, ‘Why not?’ to myself. I wasn’t going to return his, or anyone else’s, courtesy until I was sure it was genuine. Then there would be some personal scores to settle. And after that… we would have to wait and see. I stood up and spoke abruptly.

     ‘Lead the way then, my man.’

     They gave me back the few items they’d taken from me, but I was given no opportunity to clean myself up. They escorted me down the corridors, through the main entrance and into the daylight. A shiny black Jaguar saloon was waiting in the courtyard. The sergeant opened the rear door and ushered me inside. The soft leather seats smelled brand new. He joined me in the back. His colleague stayed behind.

     The driver appeared to be a civilian. He and the soldier remained silent throughout the journey, which took us across Battersea Bridge and along the north bank of the Thames, past the Tate Gallery and the Palace of Westminster. My eyes were drawn, as always, towards the huge statue of Sir Winston Churchill in Parliament Square. I wondered what the old warrior would have thought of the state into which his beloved country had been allowed to descend. There were troops everywhere, patrolling the streets on foot, peering out of armoured cars and light tanks. I heard the occasional shot in the distance.

     Then we were moving up Whitehall, slowing down to pass the Cenotaph and turning left through a massive pair of iron gates. A soldier in a flak jacket waved us through. We stopped outside a nondescript row of houses, one of which possessed the world’s most famous front door.

     The sergeant swiftly disembarked and made for the door on my side. I managed to get it open just before he could. He insisted nevertheless on going through the formalities, holding it open for me while standing to attention. I emerged from the car and turned to face him.

     ‘I presume the Prime Minister has been relieved of the burden of office?’ I asked. ‘Because if he’s keeping up the charade of running the nation, then I have absolutely no interest in meeting him. You may as well take me back to Wandsworth.’

     For the first time, my escort allowed himself a faint smile. ‘I couldn’t rightly say where the ex-P.M. is exactly, sir. There’s a new man at the helm now.’

     He indicated the opening door. ‘After you.’

(To be continued)