Instead, once she was done reading she just said thank you, and promised to stop by for a longer chat next time she was passing through Grosvenor Square. From the smile that instantly returned to Eloise’s face as she took the records off Bennett, ready to return them to their dusty, neglected homes, it looked like she believed her.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Knox felt a little like a poor, distant relative whenever he visited Wytchen House, no matter how many times he’d been there to see Holland or his wife, Sarah. Williams had always been more comfortable in the rarefied surroundings of the home that had been in Sarah’s family of high-ranking politicians and business leaders for generations. But, as they both got out of the Jaguar and approached the front door, Knox could tell that his friend’s timid recognition was rapidly turning into terror.

Knox suddenly wondered if bringing Williams here was the right decision after all. He was still astounded by how fast and fatally Williams had acted in Smithfield. He looked scared now, and he’d looked scared before he’d killed the men too. What if something happened here to provoke him? What if some impulse drove him to assault Holland or Sarah? Would Knox be able to stop him? Knox told himself Williams had acted in self-defence in Smithfield, and that they were very unlikely to face another attack in the refined environs of Highgate.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, glancing up and down the street, double-checking they hadn’t been followed. ‘They’ll be happy to see you.’

It also occurred to Knox that the Hollands might not be at home. There was plenty to keep the head of MI5 at his desk late into the evening at the moment, and Sarah kept her own busy schedule of functions and meetings across the city that blended the social, political, and charitable. But a few moments after he knocked on the front door it was opened by Sarah, whose hands flew to her mouth in surprise as Knox stepped aside to reveal Williams standing nervously behind him.

‘Oh lord,’ she said to Williams, as she ushered them both into the grand, wood-panelled hallway. ‘I didn’t believe James when he told me you were alive, but here you are.’

Then she hugged him.

Sarah was the consummate spy’s wife. She was as smart and shrewd as her husband, and as discreet—they kept very few secrets from each other, personal or professional.

‘James,’ she called out, ‘we have guests.’

The three of them marched in a line into the drawing room, where Holland was waiting, standing in the middle of a large, intricately patterned rug like a headmaster about to tell children on their first day at school what he expected of them.