‘How is your revision going, Peter?’ She’d been calling him Peter ever since revealing his new identity, and he was becoming rather fond of the name. He felt he was more of a Peter than a Hans or a Jesper. There’d been a Peter in his year at school who’d been captain of both the rugby and cricket teams, as well as being the first in their year to have a proper girlfriend. Naturally he’d also gone to one of the better colleges at Cambridge. Prince had always aspired to being Peter.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your homework: how’s it going?’

‘Very well, thank you. I’ve memorised every detail I can on Peter Rasmussen and I now know the difference between port and starboard thanks to the children’s book on ships you brought from the library. And as for Helsingør, what do you want to know? I can tell you all about King Eric of Pomerania and describe St Olaf’s church in great detail.’ He was patting a pile of books next to him.

‘You’ll meet Agent Horatio tomorrow. You know what to do?’

He nodded.

‘I ought to be getting back to my apartment now. I won’t see you in the morning. I hope the meeting goes well. Are you all right, Peter?’

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Obviously a bit apprehensive…’

‘What happened last time was an unfortunate coincidence. You’ll be fine, you’re well prepared.’

There was a long silence. Prince started to talk, then stopped himself. He came and sat next to her on the sofa. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you have any family?’

‘Is it wise for us to be having a conversation like this?’

‘Is it wise not to?’

It was her turn to be quiet. She edged closer to him and rested her hand on his thigh, gently patting it as if in reassurance.

‘I’ve told you about my father – he’s in a home. He suffered a stroke a few years ago. My mother was killed when I was very young. My father brought me up on his own, though of course he had help. He and I are very close. And before you ask, I’ve never been married and I don’t have children. I’ve told you that already.’

‘Can I ask how your mother was killed? I hope you don’t mind…’

She removed her hand from his thigh and moved slightly away from him. ‘I don’t normally talk about it, Peter, it hurts too much. She was killed crossing the road. A lorry hit her. I was seven years old and had a twin brother. He was with her and was also killed, though not immediately. He died a few days later.’

‘You weren’t with them?’