It had been Nasima’s idea to ask the Party. It wouldn’t have occurred to him, and when he had said he didn’t like to ask, she had become quite frosty. ‘They’re in government and they’re your employer. What’s wrong with asking?’

In less than a minute Pippa was back, triumphant.

‘Courtesy of one of our recently disgraced members, it seems we have a rather nice little pied-à-terre in Victoria going begging.’

‘Disgraced?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Shared a bed in Brussels one night with another man – not a problem per se, but his wife wasn’t terribly happy. And his constituency party is – shall we say – very old guard.’

Sam nodded noncommittally. ‘It sounds perfect. Does it have two bedrooms? My girlfriend is very modest.’

There was a beat while she took this in. He could see her thinking, They’re a funny lot.

‘Oh, yes. Right. Of course. As it happens, it does, though the smaller one really is a bit bijou, as the agents like to say.’

‘I’m sure we’ll manage. It’s very kind of you.’

‘The furnishings aren’t much to write home about, but as you’ll be out and about most of the time, I don’t imagine that’ll be a problem. And it is very central. The neighbours may be a bit old-fashioned, but I’m sure you’ll use your charm on them.’

He assumed that by ‘old-fashioned’ she meant likely not to want Muslims living among them. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. His life was evolving and he was taking charge of it, leading his destiny in a new direction.

From a drawer she produced a large gold-edged invitation card and held it out to him. ‘Welcome to the next level.’

He gazed down at it.

The Prime Minister requests the pleasure . . .

‘Beware, you’re going to be bombarded with these. We want you at all the PM’s VIP bashes. We’re keen to widen the gene pool around him – and you’re, well, the best thing that’s happened to us in a while.’

Sam stared at the card.

‘And I can make them plus one if you like.’

He grinned. ‘Wow, thanks.’

His life was on track. He was someone. He couldn’t wait to tell Nasima.

Chapter 36

36

An hour later, Sam was leaning against the wall in a fourth-floor mansion flat two blocks from Victoria station, getting his breath back.

Inside it smelt faintly of mildew and instant coffee, and bore all the signs of a hurried departure: curtains drawn, a large drift of post piled against the inside of the door, an iPhone charger hanging out of a socket and half a packet of chocolate digestives on the small kitchen table. He bit into one: still crisp.