‘There are secrets even I do not know. But you took a huge risk coming here. It was brave, but also foolish. What if they have been following you?’ Sergei took another sip of his vodka and came to sit beside her, half twisted on the couchette seat so that his knee was touching her thigh. Then, quietly, ‘If you pursue this, it may cost you more than your career. You must know that. A reason to live for tonight, though, if ever I heard of one.’ He took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table. He reached behind him and flicked the lock on the door.

He faced her. Kate’s head swam, her heart thumping as it had when she had been a student in that dacha aching for this moment. He touched her hair, her cheek, the white, freckled skin at her neck.

And then he kissed her.

The smell of him, the taste and warmth of his lips . . .

She’d not thought of sex beyond an academic curiosity since she’d learnt of Stuart’s betrayal, but now desire exploded inside her. They moved with the urgency of the condemned, his firm, sure touch on her leg, beneath her skirt, pushing up her thigh until her blue polka-dot dress was rucked up at her waist to reveal long slim legs above blue socks and scuffed sneakers.

He unclasped the back of her bra with practised skill and kissed her stomach, working steadily downwards. She arched her back, aching for him, and he gently freed her until all she saw was her white underwear wrapped around one leg, before losing herself completely in him.

It had never been like that before, was all Kate could think as she lay lazily in his arms afterwards. Never with Stuart – not in all honesty – loving and marvellous and fun as that had so often been. And certainly not the first time with Pete Carter, which had been painful and mortifying by turns, or with the young boys who’d followed him episodically before she’d met Stuart.

It was as if, in some strange way, this secret had been revealed at the time of life when she needed it most.

She was so lost in her reverie that it was many minutes before her total failure to reach for any kind of contraception struck her. She rolled off the bunk in a hurry, retrieved her underwear and rearranged her dress and bra into crumpled respectability.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I just need the loo.’

‘You’re an incurable romantic.’

‘Back in a second. Don’t go away.’ She reached the door, glanced back at him. ‘It was worth the wait. That’s all I’ll say.’

He smiled at her. ‘It was a pleasure to discover you like to make love with your pumps still on.’

‘I always knew you were a pervert.’