Behind the bathroom door, she put her hand to her mouth and drew the breath in and out of her lungs in sharp bursts to stop herself hyperventilating, the image of Ivan and then Irena flashing in front of her. It couldn’t be true. There must have been a mistake. Shaking her head, she struggled to clear her mind of the image: Emsworth, Nguema and Vasiliev, in that meeting in Moscow. How had she not recognised her at the restaurant? And yet, she’d never seen her face. No, there was no way of her knowing they were the same person. Though could she really claim not to have known something was wrong?

‘Gabriela?’ Madeleine was knocking on the toilet door.

She stood with her back against the wall, as far away from the cubicle door as possible.

Madeleine’s voice continued calmly, ‘Even if he makes it back to Russia, we are working on ways to bring him back here to stand trial. You know as well as I do the sentences for people involved in facilitating people trafficking. That’s an offence subject to life imprisonment, in some cases. There are potential fraud charges, too: we’re going to strip him bare. Not to mention how the press will spin the story, when they get hold of it.’

The press. The words hit her so hard she could almost feel her teeth fall out.

Her next thought was Layla. If Ivan was going to jail, what would become of them? If there was fraud involved, the chances were that they would seize his assets, take his money – and hers? Any money she had now was his, except for the house in Dartmouth Park and her mother’s place in Wiltshire … Another bullet struck her chest. Might the authorities not feasibly try to retrospectively claim cash from her, and then where would she be? Where would Callum and Sadie live if she was forced to sell their home?

She closed her eyes, blocking out the headlines she could already see forming in her mind: Former FCO employee leads double life with Russian oligarch involved in human trafficking. The words Sadie was now old enough to read, at least in part.

Her fingers fumbling on the handle of the door, she paused for a split second before pushing open the door and facing Madeleine.

‘Tell me what I need to do.’

Her fingers were no longer her own as she typed the message to Ivan, the sound of car horns blaring as she pulled her house keys from her bag, knowing that Tom would not yet be home, that she still had time to think: time to process the thoughts clawing at one another in her head.

Just checking you got home OK. Gx

The sound of his reply a moment later made her jump.

All fine, just packing. Excited to catch up on your news.