An isolated cottage deep in the heart of the Cotswolds. A writer's den, as dusty, gloomy and full of exotic objets d'art as the cell of a medieval monk. Two men sit opposite each other, one of them talking, the other typing. But why, in such already sombre surroundings, does one of the two men wear thick dark glasses? What is the other typing so industriously and so apparently imperturbably? Why is the light left on in an unoccupied bathroom? What is the precise significance of the jigsaw puzzle laid out on the study table? Why, too, are some of its pieces missing? Whose statue actually stands on the empty plinth in Trafalgar Square? Who or what, above all, is causing an unearthly shadow to fall across these two inextricably interwoven destinies?