‘Transferred back to Finance, prioritized my marriage and my mental health and tried to wipe the period from my memory.’ Kate could see that her aunt was now determined to change the subject. ‘How was Berlin?’

‘It went to plan, mostly. The foreign secretary has a very big decision to make, which Sir Alan predicts she is not going to enjoy.’

Rose knew better than to ask any more. She got up and went to wash up her mug. While she did so, her phone buzzed. Kate glanced at the screen. It was a message from Sir Alan. Call you later, it said.

Rose turned, noticed the message, picked up her phone and slipped it into her pocket, without meeting Kate’s eye. She kissed her niece tenderly on the head and headed for the stairs. ‘Sleep well,’ she said.

Kate finished her wine in melancholy silence. Call you later . . . What was that about?

Almost certainly none of her business.

In fact, definitively none of her business.

But still . . .

She washed up and followed Rose up the stairs. She removed her make-up, brushed her teeth and collapsed into bed, convinced she would go straight to sleep.

But the more she circled closer to it, the more her mind began to torture her again. For a long time, her patience held. Just rest, she told herself. Sleep is close. It will happen. But it didn’t. Not quite.

Her pulse quickened. She recognized the signs and got out of bed. The digital alarm clock told her it was just after two in the morning: four hours until she needed to be up.

She went down to the kitchen, switched on a side lamp and sat in the chair in the corner reading Vogue. After twenty minutes, she didn’t know if she was tired or not. Was sleep creeping up on her? It didn’t feel like it, but the clock on the wall was closing in on half past two, which meant her window to sleep was closing fast.

She returned to bed. Her self-discipline held for what seemed like an age, but as the minutes marched past the panic crept back in. She tried some yoga, slowed her breathing right down. She felt better and attempted again to drift off. But it was ultimately always the same threshold she couldn’t cross. She realized she was sweating it too much and tried to roam far and wide with her thoughts. They returned, like a dog with a bone, to her inability to sleep.

The dawn was once again a relief, the sun inching along the painted terraced houses opposite. She had a shower, dressed and put on her make-up. She faced the day, momentarily uplifted by the fact that, for now at least, she was roughly able to function.

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