"I happened to be in England and just passing through your neighbourhood so I thought I'd call in to say hello," he said to himself, wondering how he could justify knocking on the door of Phillipson's house. And then what would he say? "You have the right to remain silent" just as they said it in the movies. "Don't move. I have one heck of a large hunch inside this jacket and it's pointed at you Phillipson"? Or he could just do what a Charles Bronson character would do and pistol-whip the guy until he confessed. But Dibcek guessed that this probably wasn't the custom in Hampshire, just as it wasn't in Prague. Not for a few years anyway. And besides he wasn't carrying a gun, just a banana that he had picked up from the fruit bowl on his way out of Carol's flat. Just in case, he told himself. He was prone to moments of hypoglycaemia and something like a banana was a good standby. Not exactly police issue, he knew, but it could make all the difference between being able to give chase or to stand feeling weak and wobbly against a doorframe. "OK Phillipson, don't make me use this banana, so just do as you are told."

Dibcek walked away from the city centre and onto an area the map showed as a common. He walked along the edge of woodland, close to the rushing traffic. He could hear the city around him, but his attention was drawn to squirrels darting out across his path, coming bravely close as if they expected him to feed them before rapidly scuttling back up into the trees. He was not alone. The paths across the common were busy with walkers, cyclists and roller bladders. It was like walking through Letenské Sady in Prague except without the view over the city.

Carol was right, of course. He was grateful for her concern. It was good of her to insist that he stay with her and not in the hotel that had been booked for him. She said that she knew he would spend most of his time working, drinking and simply not getting any rest. She said it as though it was the most important thing for his recovery. That's how she described it, his 'recovery'. Last evening he asked her what he was supposed to be recovering from even before the first vodka had hit their stomachs.

"You know perfectly well," she had said. "And if you don't know then you are a pretty hopeless case. Actually, if you don't know what I'm referring to then you are utterly stupid. I don't have stupid friends. And nor do you, so you know what I mean. If you don't listen when you are here right now in front of me then I don't know what's going to become of you Karel Dibcek." He shut his eyes and leaned back. He knew he was trapped, but he was also very glad. Of all the ways to be trapped, this was the best. He settled back in her new armchair smelling the leather and listening to her voice crackle like the lightning he could see out of the picture window that was randomly splitting up the evening sky over Southampton Water.

Carol, yes, had told him what he already knew. But it didn't hurt to be told by a friend. He knew, last night, that he was being told by the best friend he had. Maybe, if he admitted it, she was the only friend he had. It was her sense of humour that he enjoyed. He sometimes wondered why she had never re-married. She was very attractive and she had a way of making people laugh. Even Dibcek. Staring for a moment into the murky waters of a pond on the common and aware that the banana in his pocket was probably not going to last the day as the heat was building up, he remembered the joke Carol had started the evening before about fish.

"If you have a philosophical fish," she said brightly, leaving a short pause to get Dibcek's full attention, "then does it live in a think tank?"

She had to explain the reference to think tank, which made it seem funnier. She laughed at him laughing at her. It was at moments like this that he noticed how white her teeth were. Another attractive feature, but uncommon, as far as he was concerned, in British women. Fine cheekbones, blue eyes, a good sense of humour and attention to dental detail made for a combination, in his mind, of the ideal woman. But his admiration of her attractiveness passed as quickly as it had arrived when she forced him into an observation on fish. He struggled to come up with:

"What do you call a fish out of water?" he said.

"I don't know, but you don't have to phrase it like a question. Just tell me, don't ask me."

"Oh shit, " he said. "I've forgotten the answer."

"The punchline," she offered.

"Yes, the punchline." He laughed. She laughed. There was a flash of lightning.

"Dead?" she guessed. "Do you call it dead? Or just uncomfortable? Or is it more subtle than this?"

"I don't know," he said. "I really can't remember. It's probably a combination of both of what you have just said."

"Karel," she smiled, "that's a crap joke."

And then he had a brilliant stroke of luck. He genuinely misheard her, so said:

"Carp joke?"

"Now you've got it." She laughed and left to get more ice for the vodka. "You've got the hang of it now," she shouted back from the kitchen.

"Carp?"

"It's a fish, stupid."