Abey Bennett had also moved on, to another far-flung adventure where Knox was sure she’d once more be the smartest person in whatever situation she found herself.

She’d stayed in London for a week after Kosygin’s fateful visit, patching things up further with Knox and assisting MI5 with its hasty inquiry into what had happened—she had, after all, been the one who had stopped Williams by shooting him in the shoulder.

Hugh Hoffman, the CIA London COS, had been forced to bite his tongue and swallow his anger when it became clear his little victory over MI5 had been sacrificed for a much bigger one over Russia that would belong solely to her. And Knox had done nothing to hide his gratitude that she’d been able to do what he couldn’t on the airfield at Shoreham Airport.

‘That’s what we do,’ Bennett had said when Knox thanked her for the ninth or tenth time over their now-traditional farewell espressos in Bar Italia.

‘The CIA?’ he’d asked.

‘Friends,’ she’d replied.

When Knox had gone back to Kemp House an hour later, he’d found a parting gift from her waiting on his kitchen counter—a triangular glass jar with Folgers instant coffee crystals printed on a red label, and a note next to it that read: For use in case of emergency.

Knox opened the window and looked out at Rabley Heath’s sprawling grounds. Spring was being kind to them. Wild flowers were pushing their way through the lawns Knox had spent a couple of days the week before getting under control, and the thick, knotty hedges seemed more verdant than overgrown. It felt like life and order were returning to the place at long last.

Knox heard a distant, high drone and looked up into the blue sky just in time to see a tiny plane disappear behind an errant, fluffy cloud. It reminded him of the dream he’d had the night before. He’d been back at Shoreham, it was a long evening in mid-summer, and he was lying on the grass next to the terminal building watching a plane piloted by Williams climb, tumble, and loop through the sky. But instead of being filled with dread over his friend’s aerial acrobatics, Knox was overwhelmed by a sense of calm contentment.

As the sound of a jangling bell replaced the plane’s propellers, Knox’s mind brought him back to reality.

‘Stinky,’ he called out.

A few moments later the caramel and white cat appeared on the sill, miaowing for a head-scratch and the saucer of milk. Knox gave him both, then poured the boiling water from the kettle into a cafetière of freshly ground coffee, put it on a tray with two mugs, and walked out into the garden.