“Should I resign?” said Giles, as he gripped the edge of the desk to try to stop his hands shaking.

“That’s not for me to decide. But don’t do anything too hasty. At least wait until you’ve seen the PM. And let me know the moment the press get in touch with you.”

Giles took one more look at some of the photos of himself and Karin, and still refused to believe it.

*   *   *

“How could you, Giles? To fall for such an obvious honey trap,” said Gwyneth. “Especially after Harry told you what happened to him in Moscow.”

“I know, I know. I couldn’t have been more stupid. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Didn’t you give me or your family one moment’s thought when this little tart was seducing you?”

“She wasn’t a tart,” said Giles quietly.

Gwyneth was silent for some time before she asked, “Are you saying you knew this woman before all this happened?”

“She was my interpreter.”

“So it was you who seduced her, and not the other way around?”

Giles made no attempt to contradict her. It would have been one lie too many.

“If you’d been set up, or drunk, or just made a fool of yourself, Giles, I might have been able to live with it. But you’d clearly given it some thought before…” She stopped mid-sentence and rose from her chair. “I’m going down to Wales this evening. Please don’t try to get in touch with me.”

Giles sat alone as dusk settled over Smith Square and considered the consequences of having told Gwyneth the truth. Not much point if Karin had been nothing more than a Stasi whore. How easy it would have been for him to tell his wife that Karin was just a tart, a one-night stand, that he didn’t even know her name. So why hadn’t he? Because the truth was, he’d never met anyone quite like her before. Gentle, humorous, passionate, kind, and bright. Oh so bright. And if she didn’t feel the same way about him, why did she fall asleep in his arms? And why did she make love with him again when they woke in the morning, when she could so easily have stolen away in the night, having done her job? Instead, she chose to take just as big a risk as him and was probably suffering the consequences every bit as much as he was.

*   *   *

Every time the phone rang, Giles assumed it would be a journalist on the other end of the line—We are in possession of some photographs, Sir Giles, and wondered if you’d care to comment …

The phone rang, and he reluctantly picked it up.

“There’s a Mr. Pengelly on the line,” said his secretary.

Pengelly. It had to be Karin’s father. Was he also involved in the setup? “Put him through,” said Giles.