Langham was very still. His eyes never left my face, but I could tell he was thinking hard, trying to decide what to believe of me, whether I was capable of killing a man, what it meant that I had lied about it. Would things ever be the same between us, now? He had asked me not to bring trouble into his house, and that is exactly what I had done. There was no sympathy in his look, or anger. Part of me wished he would react: shout and swear at me, or take my hand, but he did neither and I had to look away.

Hilde was frowning at me too, worrying at her lip. Her trust in me had been based on the story I had told; a story so like her own. Now she knew that I had lied – would she understand?

Finally, Langham blinked. ‘What exactly did Cabrera want you to do?’ he said slowly. ‘Use his exact words if you can.’

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to remember it; the stench of Márquez at my back, the awful closeness of Cabrera’s face as he spelled out his demands.

‘He wants me to report everything to him. Who telephones, who comes to the house, what Bouzid does. He knows about the party tomorrow night. He wants to set up the rendezvous for then, he said it would be the perfect cover.’ I forced myself to look up at them all. ‘He wants me to get into your study and take some papers from your desk, from any green file he said, and place them secretly in your coat or bag so that you carry them to the meeting.’ I could feel my face growing hot, ashamed of my own foolishness. ‘He said that would be enough.’

To my surprise, Langham was nodding. ‘What about Hilde? Did he mention her?’

Hilde’s face was curiously pale, her eyes fixed on Langham.

‘No,’ I stammered, looking between them. ‘No, he didn’t mention Hilde at all. He said that I should stay here during the rendezvous. He said that some other people might come to search the house, and that I should let them in.’

‘Other people – did he say who?’

‘No. He said I’d be able to tell when they arrived, though.’

‘And that was all? You’re sure?’

I nodded my throbbing head. ‘Yes. I swear.’

Abruptly, Langham’s flint-like expression softened. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, before looking up at Bouzid.

‘It’s the British. I’m sure of it.’

The other man grunted. ‘Would they trust Cabrera?’

‘They’d trust a mule if it trotted up to them with a promise in its mouth.’ Langham’s voice was filled with contempt. ‘Cabrera must’ve done a deal with them. No doubt they are offering him ample reward for ensuring I am caught red-handed.’