She was wearing a gray shapeless dress that nearly reached her ankles, and that could only have been purchased off the peg from a comrades’ cooperative store. But she possessed something you couldn’t buy at Harrods, luxuriant auburn hair that had been plaited and wound into a severe bun, to hide any suggestion of femininity. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to notice her. But her big brown eyes and captivating smile would have caused most men to take a second look, including Giles. She was like one of those ugly ducklings in a film that you know will turn out in the last scene to be a swan.

It stank of a setup. Giles immediately assumed she worked for the Stasi, and wondered if he could catch her out.

“You have a slight West Country burr if I’m not mistaken,” he whispered.

She nodded and displayed the same disarming smile. “My father was born in Truro.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I was born in East Berlin. My father met my mother when he was stationed here with the British Army in 1947.”

“That can’t have been met with universal approval,” suggested Giles.

“He had to resign his commission, and he then took a job in Germany so he could be with her.”

“A true romantic.”

“But the story doesn’t have a romantic ending, I’m afraid. More John Galsworthy than Charlotte Brontë, because when the wall went up in 1961, my father was in Cornwall visiting his parents and we’ve never seen him since.”

Giles remained cautious. “That doesn’t make any sense, because if your father is a UK national you and your mother could make an application to visit Britain at any time.”

“We’ve made thirty-four applications in the past nine years, and those that were answered all came back with the same red stamp, rejected.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Giles. He then turned away, adjusted his headphones and listened to the remainder of the welcoming speech.

When the general secretary finally sat down an hour and twelve minutes later, Giles was one of the few people in the room who was still awake.

He left the conference chamber and joined a subcommittee to discuss the possible lifting of certain sanctions between the two countries. He had a clear brief, as did his opposite number, but during the meeting he had the distinct impression that his interpreter was including the occasional observation that came from the Stasi, and not from the minister. He remained skeptical and cautious about her, although when he looked her up on the briefing notes he saw that her name was Karin Pengelly. So it seemed she was at least telling the truth about her heritage.