Raymond looked around the room. Archie Adams was holding court at a table where guests were enraptured to hear stories of his time in the hotel bars of New York and New Orleans. It did not surprise him to find Nathaniel White in attendance at the neighbouring table. The odious young man, with his blond hair styled in a magnificent flourish, was dressed in a silver waistcoat and sitting alongside his father and a collection of men from the German embassy on Belgrave Square. Maynard Charles tipped his head towards them and whispered, ‘You’d do worse than fraternise there, Raymond. Consider that an order.’

Raymond held himself tightly. ‘Mr Charles, it’s Christmas—’

‘Be that as it may, we are still at work. And, now that you know what manner of work I am bound up with, you might consider lending your assistance.’ He kept his voice low. Maynard Charles, Raymond was beginning to understand, was a man who could keep a secret. Raymond wondered what other secrets the private man might have kept. ‘My colleagues will know the ambassador came here, and who he came with. I must give them something. And Billy Brogan is not here to undertake his duties for me. So do your best for me, Raymond. There’s a good chap.’

There was a seat alongside Nathaniel, and Raymond slipped into it. He was practised at hiding his disgust, and – in spite of Nathaniel’s razor glare – quickly found ways to charm his way into the conversation. There was snow in the Black Forest, the ambassador was saying. Berlin itself was a picture of perfect white. The Berliners and the British, Nathaniel’s father interjected, they were not so very different. And Raymond – in spite of himself – found himself agreeing, if only for something to say. Raymond had been to Berlin. He had danced in the ballroom at the Hotel Adlon with its dramatic elephant fountain and grand piano in the lobby. ‘The ballroom there is a marvel of mahogany and marble,’ he said. ‘And the dancing girls . . .’

‘Yes,’ the ambassador grinned with a gleam in his eye, ‘nowhere in the world are there dancing girls as in Berlin.’

In this way, an hour and more passed. The champagne was in full flow. Raymond could feel himself light-headed already, though trying to remain alert to the exchange of information. Then, suddenly, silence spread like a wildfire, from one table to the next. Raymond looked around, following the eyes of his fellow diners.