De Payns kicked off his shoes and picked up the remote.

‘Don’t,’ said Romy. ‘Please. Not the TV.’

Putting down the remote, he turned back to her.

‘We just got talking because Oliver and Charles are friends. I don’t think anyone initiated the conversation.’

‘Charles? Are they French?’

‘I don’t know. Turkish, maybe.’

De Payns raised his eyebrows.

‘Okay, they look Arabic, but they’re very French. She has no accent.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘I don’t know.’

De Payns nodded. ‘What was the approach?’

Romy shook her head.

‘Has she asked about your husband?’

‘No … maybe I’ve offered.’

‘What have you offered?’

‘That you’re away on business.’

‘With the Ministry?’ asked de Payns, referring to his chosen cover as an administrative person working at the Defence Ministry.

‘No, I didn’t offer that; she didn’t ask.’

‘Did she see the car?’

Romy appeared to be struggling to control her anger. ‘I know this stuff’s important, Alec—I’m very serious about it. But you have to show some trust.’

‘So?’

‘We may have talked at the car.’

‘Did you see her car? Her numberplate?’

Romy shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know if she has a car.’

De Payns tried to smile. ‘If bad people ever wanted to coerce me to act against France, they would probably do it through my family. That’s all.’

It was the wrong thing to say, he saw it in her eyes immediately.

‘You mean, that’s what you do to people? Get to their families?’

An icy silence settled, before it was shattered by a shriek.

‘Papa!’ came the high-pitched sound of a five-year-old boy. De Payns saw a flash of Batman pyjamas and then Oliver was upon him. As he fell sideways on the couch with his younger son in his arms, he thought of Michael Lambardi and wondered what would become of his kids.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER

ELEVEN