“So what happens now?” whispered Giles.

“We wait to be escorted back to the bus. But it’s important that you continue to look as if you were impressed by the speech, so please make sure to keep complimenting your hosts.”

Giles turned away from Karin and began shaking hands with several European politicians who Griff Haskins would have refused to share a pint with.

Giles couldn’t believe it. Someone actually blew a whistle to attract the attention of the foreign delegates. They were then rounded up and, like unruly schoolchildren, led back to the bus.

When all thirty-two passengers were safely on board and had once again been counted, the bus, accompanied by four police motorcycle outriders, their sirens blaring, began its slow journey back to the border.

He was about to take Karin’s hand, when a voice behind him said, “It’s Sir Giles Barrington, isn’t it?” Giles looked around to see a face he recognized, although he couldn’t recall the name.

“Keith Brookes.”

“Ah yes,” said Giles, “the Telegraph. Good to see you again, Keith.”

“As you’re representing the Labour Party, Sir Giles, can I assume you still hope to return to frontline politics?”

“I try to keep in touch,” said Giles, not wanting to hold a lengthy conversation with a journalist.

“I’m sorry you didn’t stand at the by-election,” said Brookes. “Fielding seems a nice enough chap, but I miss your contributions from the front bench.”

“There wasn’t much sign of that when I was in the House.”

“Not the paper’s policy, as you well know, but you have your admirers on the news desk, including Bill Deedes, because I can tell you we all feel the present bunch of shadow ministers are pretty colorless.”

“It’s fashionable to say that about every new generation of politicians.”

“Still, if you do decide to make a comeback, give me a call.” He handed Giles a card. “You just might be surprised by our attitude to your second coming,” he added before resuming his place.

“He seemed nice enough,” said Karin.

“You can never trust the Torygraph,” said Giles, placing the card in his wallet.

“Are you thinking of making a comeback?”

“It wouldn’t be that easy.”

“Because of me?” said Karin, taking his hand as the coach came to a halt at a barrier just a few hundred yards from freedom. He would have replied, but the door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air.

Three uniformed officers climbed on board again. Giles was relieved to see that the morning shift had clearly changed. As they began slowly and meticulously checking every passport and visa, Giles suddenly remembered. He whipped out his wallet, retrieved the small photo of Karin and quickly handed it to her. She cursed under her breath, took her passport out of her bag and, with the help of a nail file, began to carefully peel off the morning’s photograph.

“How could I have forgotten?” Karin whispered, as she used the same small tube of glue to fix her own photograph back in place.