Vidor felt a spasm of foreboding, as if the man were an oracle in disguise. But he squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. Don’t panic. Just go. In the village, their train was just pulling into the station with a desultory wheeze. Eleven sixteen, on the dot. Only a few people waited on the platform. A sandy-haired man in a blue ski parka clutched the strap of a black carry-on bag, while another man hefted a snowboard on his shoulder. A woman in a bright red coat smiled at her two young daughters as she helped them board the carriage. Vidor and Hélène were right behind her.

Vidor eyed the two men who’d entered the carriage with them. The one in the blue parka looked out of place. Was it someone from Gessen’s staff? He tightened his hold on Hélène’s arm. It would take them a full hour to reach Montreux. Another hour and a half to Geneva airport, where they would board the flight to London. Plenty of time for things to go wrong. As much as he wanted to believe Gessen was a man of his word, Vidor was sure he would do anything to keep him from getting on the plane, at least with Hélène in tow. Perhaps, if he… the train jolted and slowed. The brakes squealed and they jerked to a stop.

Hélène, seated next to the window, strained to see along the tracks. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Trapped like a rat in a hole. They must have stopped by order of the railway police.

The minutes ticked by. Vidor held tight to Hélène’s wrist. She was alert as a meerkat, poised to flee at the first sign of danger. His heart kept time with the clock, his breath stuck in his throat. But the engine started up again, and they began to move. When he relaxed his grip, Hélène shifted in the seat. ‘I need to use the facilities.’

He stared at her and frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. But now he’d have to untie their hands. It wasn’t as if he could go in with her. ‘All right. But I’ll be standing just outside the door.’ He struggled to loosen the knots. When she was free, she rubbed the red marks on her wrist. A pang of regret shot through his heart. What had he done? But it couldn’t be helped.

They stood and moved awkwardly down the aisle. Vidor kept a firm grip on her arm. The train carriage was nearly empty, and no one looked at them as they passed. Not even the man in the blue parka, typing away on his laptop.

‘Don’t lock it,’ he said, when they reached the end of the carriage. ‘I’ll be waiting right outside.’