I am growing more certain that George’s presence in my life is not an accident. What was his job title, again? Something like Information Systems Security Officer. People with his kind of expertise don’t fall out of the sky. But he isn’t behaving as someone from the Security Service normally would. I may be his target, but his interest in me seems real. And that isn’t how it’s supposed to work. What’s more, if I am his target, why?

There is a desk, facing another paned Georgian window, and a third laptop, this one large and open, the screen dead. The desk is heaped with papers. George’s office chair is the only clear surface, so I sit down, my back to the room in the pose of a relaxed innocent who doesn’t worry about who is coming. In any case, I can already hear him approach.

He slowly spins the chair to face him, kneels in front of me, and says good morning. ‘Sorry about the mess.’

‘What mess?’

He puts his hands around my waist. ‘Is this okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘You only have to say if it isn’t.’

My hand floats to his back. ‘I’m glad you survived the night. How are you feeling?’

He touches his hair, winces. ‘Bugger. Like I’ve been hit on the head.’

‘Very funny.’ I put the tips of my fingers to his cheek, thinking again about how I’d imagined trailing them down the centre of his stomach.

‘That tickles.’

‘Sorry.’ I take my hand away.

He puts it back. ‘Don’t be. I like it.’

‘Will you be okay for work tomorrow?’ I touch his blond hair. It is soft, despite its thickness, and surprising after Zac’s smooth scalp.

‘No worse than a bad hangover.’

‘Who is it you work for, again?’

He looks me straight in the eye and repeats the dutiful lie he fed me on Wednesday morning. ‘The civil service.’

‘Hmmm. Isn’t that a cliché of a cover job, George?’

He squints. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘What does an Information Systems Security Officer do?’

‘Impressive for you to remember that mouthful.’ He turns my hand over in his and studies my palm as if he is about to tell my fortune. ‘Boring stuff. Business analysis.’

‘Business analysis?’

‘You should have been called Echo instead of Helen.’ He brings my hand to his mouth, presses a kiss on it, and I can feel that my heart is beating faster.

‘So what does that mean? Business analysis?’

His pupils have grown huge and startling, leaving a narrow rim of bright blue. ‘Another of my job titles is Solutions Consultant, if that helps?’