‘Yes please,’ Betty said. Hesitated. She had to have it out with him sometime, understand why he was seeing Vasily, find out the connection with Lieselotte. Whether it was he who had rung inquiring, or someone else. Now was as good a moment as any. ‘Actually, no thank you. I’ll be all right.’

Miss Scott smiled, that lopsided twist which made her look tart and cynical but which, Betty now knew, was neither of the kind. ‘He looks respectable enough,’ she said. ‘But then looks can be deceiving. By the way, you left a carbon copy on the typewriter.’ Added. ‘It read very well.’

She waited until Miss Scott had turned the corner before she faced John. He hadn’t moved, stood at the entrance to the forecourt, one fist on the handlebars of his bike.

‘Betty,’ he said, ‘please. I must talk to you.’

She shook her head. ‘You expect me to talk to you? Did you ring me today? Or was it Vasily?’

‘Vasily?’

‘Don’t play the innocent.’ She narrowed her eyes, temper rising like magma in a volcano. ‘Don’t lie. The Russian.’

He stopped, pulled breath.

‘Who is he?’ she said.

She saw him hesitate, as if weighing up whether to tell her or not.

‘The Russian I met is called Anatoly.’

‘No,’ Betty said. ‘His name is Vasily. I saw him go into your building.’

‘It’s possible he goes by several names,’ John said, pulling off his cycle clips. ‘Given his line of business.’

‘And what is his line of business?’

‘He’s a spy,’ John said. ‘His official role is cultural attaché, but that’s a cover.’

‘And how would you know that?’

‘This is what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ John said. ‘Please, let’s go and sit somewhere quiet.’ He pointed to the gardens.

She waited while he chained his bicycle to the lamp post. They walked through the square until they found an empty bench. It was chilly in the shade, a first cut of autumn, but the bench basked in the last of the September sun.

‘How do you know this man?’ John said. ‘This Vasily man. Anatoly, as I know him. One and the same. He’ll use several names.’

‘No.’ Betty shook her head. ‘Oh no. You tell me how you know him.’

It must have been Vasily who’d told John she was German.

‘Betty, I can’t tell you everything. Not because I don’t want to.’ He turned to her. ‘I want to more than anything, to be able to make up again. I can’t bear that we are apart, that I’ve lost you.’

‘So what’s stopping you?’

‘I can’t even tell you that. Perhaps, one day, you’ll find out. Let me go on.’

She shrugged.

‘I told you already that there were two Russians when I went to meet Lieselotte.’