‘I was tasked by MI6 with befriending her,’ John said, teeth tight, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. ‘They bullied me into it. They still had that hold over me, after Berlin. Once an agent, and all that.’ He winced. Anatoly’s words had been the same. ‘They used me to keep the Russians on side, find out what they were up to.’ He pulled himself up in his chair. ‘I was too weak to say no, to stand up for myself.’

There was a commotion from the corner of the taproom. John turned as a man swayed, tipping the table as he fell. A barman was coming over, talking to him, taking charge, lifting him to his feet. Come on, Sid, now, time to go home. John looked away, back to Norman.

‘That would have been fine. I could cope with that,’ he said. ‘Then MI5 and you lot muscled in, for your own reasons.’ He picked up his glass, gulped the beer. ‘Monitor the movement. Monitor the girl. I can’t straddle these horses, Norman. I really can’t. I won’t spy on the woman I love.’

He put down his glass and stood up.

‘Or on a cause I believe in.’

His knees felt frail, as if he’d cycled from John O’Groats, muscles without juice. The woman I love. The woman I’ve lost.

He’d blown it with Betty. They all knew, of course they did, but they kept the pressure on him all the same.

The October night had turned cold, the first nip of frost. He hadn’t brought his gloves, or a warmer jacket. He pedalled back along Stamford Street, his heart racing, expecting Anatoly to step out from the area where the rat had disappeared, or from behind the corrugated hoardings.

He was not a spy. He was not an informer. He knew what Anatoly was after, but he’d lost Betty in the process, the conduit that Anatoly relied on. And the funnies. And then this new twist. Vasily. Anatoly. One and the same. She’d been right to think he’d used her. If the boot had been on the other foot he’d be angry, hurt beyond measure. Could they ever rekindle what they had, put all of this far behind them?

Waterloo Bridge. He skirted up Aldwych and into Southampton Row. The leaves were falling from the trees, crisp from the autumn, from the emerging frost. One caught in his rear wheel, crackled as he rode along.