Instinctively he looked up and around his office. He was verging on irritation now. He grabbed his mobile phone, intending to leave the office and head back downstairs. One never knew if government offices were bugged. He had two very important tenets in life, which he’d learned in his forties: trust no one; and if something is plausible, it’s been done already. He liked the Colonel very much, but he couldn’t trust a man who was capable of ordering bombs the size of a small caravan to be dropped on children in Iraq. Before he allowed anybody into his life, he found out what their limits were, so he knew what he was dealing with. If he accepted a person’s failures, anything more was a bonus.

People always let you down.

Before he got to his door, it opened and Robyn Hastings strode in.

‘Under-Secretary, I’m just popping out—’

‘No you’re not. I know exactly what you’ve done.’ She glared at him.

‘With respect, I have no idea what you mean. I have a job to do.’

‘Blackmail, that’s what it is.’

‘You must be mistaken, Under-Secretary.’ He held her scowl.

‘I’ll tell you now, Slater, I’m on to you.’

‘No you’re not.’ He smiled and saw a tiny muscle in her neck throb. ‘Shut the door on your way out, will you.’

His secretary stared at him as he strode towards the lift. She went to say something, but, reading his expression, thought better of it. It was well known that Robyn Hastings was gay, but few knew that she’d been seeing Charlotte Cross for five years. The love-struck bitch was defending her mate, and it touched him momentarily. Charlotte Cross had been on the take from The World Cares for years, and back in the day, when no one checked expenses, she’d lived a lavish life as an expat. She’d got the taste for it and moved on to other charitable organisations, which was how she’d wound up on the Queen’s Birthday Honours list three years ago. There’d been a distinct shift in wind direction recently, however, and scandals like this were becoming more prominent. An ambassador in South Africa could barely chuck a few diamonds onto his household expenditure these days without someone snooping around.

Christopher’s own record was clean: Philip had taken care of that.

He took the lift back downstairs and walked lightly out into the sunshine to find a bench in the square. It was a beautiful day. He jabbed the Colonel’s number into his phone and listened to the ringtone.

The Colonel answered quickly and began to gush joyous greetings.