“That’s not what Vera Hobbs says.”

“How are her scones these days?”

“Almost as good as the scones at the café atop Lizard Point.”

His smile must have betrayed how much he missed it here.

“I don’t know how you could have left this place,” she said.

“Nor do I.”

She eyed him thoughtfully over the rim of her teacup. “Are you the chief of your service yet?”

“Not yet.”

“How much longer?”

“A few months, maybe less.”

“Will I read about it in the newspapers?”

“We now publicize the name of our chief, just like MI6.”

“Poor Graham,” she said with a glance toward the papers.

“Yes,” said Gabriel vaguely.

“Do you think Jonathan will sack him?”

It was odd to hear her refer to the prime minister by his Christian name. He wondered what she had called him on those nights at Downing Street when Diana Lancaster was away.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Graham knows too much.”

“There’s that.”

“And Jonathan is very loyal.”

“To everyone but his wife.”

The remark wounded her.

“I’m sorry, Madeline. I shouldn’t—”

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “I deserved it.”

Her long, sinewy hands were suddenly restless. She calmed them by removing the teabags from the pot, adding a splash of hot water, and replacing the lid.

“Is everything as you remember it?” she asked.

“The woman behind the counter is different. Otherwise, everything is the same.”

She smiled uneasily but said nothing.

“Have you been rummaging through my things?” he asked.

“Constantly.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“Regrettably, no. It’s almost as if the man who lived here didn’t exist.”

“Just like Madeline Hart.”

He saw dismay in her eyes. They moved slowly around the room, her room with a view.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you look so dreadful?”

“I was on Brompton Road when the bomb exploded.”

“Why?”

Gabriel answered truthfully.

“So you’re the foreign intelligence operative.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you were the one who tried to move the people to safety.”

He said nothing.

“Who was the other man?”

“It’s not important.”

“You always say that.”

“Only when it really is.”

“And the woman?” she asked.

“Her passport said she was—”

“Yes,” she interrupted him. “I read that in the newspaper.”

“Did you see the CCTV video?”

“Nothing much to see, really. A woman gets out of a car, a woman walks calmly away, a street goes boom.”

“Very professional.”

“Very,” she agreed.

“Did you see the still photo of her from Heathrow?”

“Pretty grainy.”

“Think she’s German?”

“Half, I’d say.”

“And the other half?”

Madeline stared at the sea.

34

GUNWALLOE COVE, CORNWALL