‘A safe pair of hands if I fall.’ He put down the stress balls. ‘Surely even you can see that.’

‘I don’t think Meg Simpson leaked this.’

‘Really? She’s not as cosy as she looks.’

He came to sit opposite her again, landing with a thump. ‘All right, Mrs Henderson, let me tell you this. We’re going ahead with your operation. We’ll accept Igor Whatever-His-Bloody-Name-Is into this country with open arms. And we’ll expose exactly what our friends in the Kremlin have been up to.’

Kate stared at him. If he had a reputation for being unpredictable, she sure as hell had not expected that.

‘You look shocked,’ he said.

‘It wasn’t entirely the outcome I expected.’

‘Exactly. Because your world view is unfortunately limited enough to conflate those men who enjoy the company of women too much with those who seek to abuse them.’

Kate could feel her cheeks reddening. In his case, that was indeed exactly what she had done.

‘I hereby authorize you to do whatever you see fit to expedite this defection. But do it quickly. I intend to brief the press in full as soon as this man is in the country and we have established to your satisfaction that what he has to offer is as fake as the Hitler diaries.’ He returned to his desk and took a seat beyond it. ‘You are dismissed!’

Kate got up and walked out. The special adviser led her down the long corridor beside the Commons chamber. ‘You didn’t expect that, did you?’ she said. ‘You people aren’t nearly as smart as you think. I love the way he out-manoeuvres you.’

It was all Kate could do to refrain from punching her. ‘I can find my way from here,’ she said icily.

‘I need to see you out.’

‘I can manage, thank you.’

The woman turned away in irritation and Kate marched on towards Central Lobby. But there was one more surprise in store for her on a day that had already held too many. Imogen Conrad stood waiting. ‘They said you were here,’ she said, without any other form of greeting.

Kate didn’t break her stride and Imogen fell into step with her as she swung right towards the entrance.

‘I’ve just had a text from the PM, asking me in. What the hell is going on?’

‘I really can’t talk about it.’

‘Come on, Kate, for God’s sake . . .’

‘If he’s texted you, perhaps it would be an idea to go and see him.’

Imogen took Kate’s arm and brought her up abruptly. They were close together. And, not for the first time, Imogen’s olive skin, full lips and wide eyes annoyed her: she was too damned pretty for her own – or anyone else’s – good. ‘Is he going to offer me the job?’

‘How on earth would I know?’

‘Did he talk about it?’

‘No.’