‘If we’d have known,’ Anatoly went on, ‘we’d have kidnapped his daughters and he’d have come running. We’d have saved you all this bother. It’s strange, isn’t it, how history turns on blunders?’ His lips glistened from the vodka, were thin, could twist like a wire. ‘It’s always the little things that trip you up. Of course, we knew you’d be a double agent. We weren’t naïve. You’d report to your Major Buchanan like a schoolboy sneak, and they’d use you to give us disinformation.’

Anatoly was becoming talkative, as if the drink had relaxed his mouth. Don’t be fooled, John told himself. His wits are sharp.

‘We didn’t expect you to be withdrawn so soon, that was our miscalculation. But we kept tabs on you, just in case. Once an agent, always an agent. I expect your side does the same. Have you thought of that?’ Anatoly hiccupped, lifted his glass once more, drained it. ‘So now you know. We told you everything about your new lover. Her patrimony as a German, her lineage as the daughter of a physicist.’

He stood up, his tall frame looming in the dark.

‘You have four weeks before we let it be known that you double-crossed your own side, that you were a double, double agent.’

He turned at the door.

‘Don’t get too upset about Lieselotte. It was a long time ago, and all’s fair in love and war.’

He sniggered and walked out of the door, his limping steps echoing down the stairwell, heavy, light, heavy, light. John reached over and switched on the standard lamp.

Anatoly had left the remains of the bottle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

London: September – October 1958

Her name was Miss Joan Scott. She stressed the Miss. One rumour had it that she’d been a WRN and lost her fiancé in the war. The other said she was a lesbian. She had her own office, a small cubbyhole next to one of the senior partners, looking out over the fire escapes and roofs at the back of the building. She supervised the typing pool, enforced discipline with a sharp tongue and a strict adherence to the rules.

‘Only this is very short notice,’ Miss Scott said. ‘And we’re very busy.’

‘You can take it off my holiday entitlement.’ Betty wished now she’d just called in sick on Monday. ‘It’s important,’ she added. ‘Urgent.’

Miss Scott crossed her hands on her desk. ‘Are you in trouble?’ she said.

‘Oh no,’ Betty said. ‘Nothing like that. It’s a family matter. Crisis, really.’

‘Crisis?’ Miss Scott gave a lopsided smile, pushed herself up from her chair and walked over to the window, her back to Betty. She folded her arms, her fingers tapping her back. She wore no rings. ‘What about?’