They were silent. Then Jameson said, ‘The first blood on my hands was a young farm labourer in the Ukraine. We suspected a criminal organization was using the farm he worked at to hide weapons. I knew the organization was ruthless and dangerous, but I convinced this kid to spy for me. I told him it wouldn’t go unrewarded. I knew he had a sister. She was hoping for British Citizenship and I implied that I could help. They shot him in the head and hung his body on a fence in the local village so that everyone would see it. I didn’t sleep well again for … well, for ever really.’ He looked at Bloom. ‘None of us know the damage we can do when we’re young and inexperienced, Augusta.’

She looked at him through her tears. He’d left MI6 after one trauma too many, but he’d never shared any of this before. It made her feel braver. ‘I thought I was helping. I thought we were making progress. The morning it happened, I was planning to ask permission to write the whole thing up as a case study … a success story.’

‘You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s choices.’

‘Oh, but I can. In this case, I really can.’

Bloom remembered Penny barging past her mother and barrelling up the stairs to where she herself stood. Their faces were just inches apart. Penny spoke low, almost hissing, her voice filled with hate. ‘My baby threw herself in front of a train.’ She remembered sitting heavily on the stair behind her, the strength knocked from her legs, the air knocked from her lungs. Penny kept talking – shouting – but she only heard a high-pitched whistling, no words. My baby threw herself in front of a train. She remembered looking at her hands. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She tried to move them but they stayed splayed out on her knees.

Her mother was standing beside them. She had an arm around Penny. ‘Come on, Pen. Come with me.’

But Penny wouldn’t leave. She kept waving a piece of paper. Bloom remembered staring as it oscillated back and forth in front of her. ‘I will never forgive you,’ Penny said.

‘This is not Augusta’s fault, Penny. Come on now.’ Her mother’s voice was calm, as though she were talking about the weather.

Penny turned to Bloom’s mother. ‘Really?’ she said, handing over the piece of paper. ‘Not her fault?’

She watched her mother take it. It was an envelope. Her mother removed the paper inside, looked at it for a moment, and then said, ‘Oh dear.’

She looked at Augusta and her eyes expressed everything she would never actually say: I am disappointed. I am embarrassed. I am ashamed.

Bloom remembered taking the piece of paper from her mother, who then led Penny back down the stairs and into the kitchen.