All three of them shuffled self-consciously then as an uneasy silence fell among them. Bannerman had already sensed the tension between Slater and Gryffe. In the former it was patent. In Gryffe it was more subtle. Here was a man used to changing masks, as all good politicians are. The easy smile, the strong handshake. A salesman of ersatz sincerity. But Bannerman was attuned to reading the signs, peeling away the masks. He was good at it. As he had to be. As all good newspapermen had to be.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’ Bannerman glanced from one to the other and stole Platt’s line to fill the awkwardness.

‘Not at all,’ Gryffe said. ‘Tim and I were just chatting. Anyway, it’s time I did some mixing.’ He beamed at Slater, whose attempts to conceal his agitation were falling well short of convincing.

‘Nine-thirty,’ Slater said pointedly. And for a second Gryffe’s mask slipped and his face clouded.

‘Nine-thirty,’ he repeated, and then the moment had passed and he was smiling once again. He turned his back on Slater and asked Bannerman, ‘Are you in Brussels for anything special?’

‘Just sniffing around,’ Bannerman said.

Gryffe chuckled. ‘Like a dog.’

‘A bloodhound,’ Bannerman elucidated. But his smile faded as beyond Gryffe he saw, with a sinking heart, the American couple he had met on the plane. The Schumachers. And they were heading his way. This was not his night.

‘Well, Mr Bannerman. Isn’t this a surprise? Just fancy meeting you here.’ Mrs Schumacher was flushed from too many sherries as she barged in on the tiny gathering. Henry followed quietly in her wake. His habitual smile of embarrassment was fixed but genuine. Laura-Lee, however, was oblivious. She raised a pencilled eyebrow at Bannerman. ‘I have to admire you, young man. It didn’t take you long to get in with the movers and shakers.’ She paused to take a breath and straighten her dress. ‘Are you going to introduce us to your friends?’

Bannerman smiled awkwardly. ‘Mr and Mrs Henry Schumacher, Mr Robert Gryffe, British Minister of State for Europe, and Tim Slater, European correspondent for the Edinburgh Post.’ Slater looked positively hostile, but Gryffe remained unruffled. He shook both their hands.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said.

‘And we you, I can assure you, Mr Gryffe.’ Laura-Lee turned towards Henry. ‘My husband is with the US government at NATO. Perhaps you’ll have heard of him?’

‘I’m afraid . . .’

But Laura-Lee didn’t want to hear it. ‘I do so think there should be more contact between the politicians of our two countries. Socially, I mean. Wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps you would lunch with us one day.’

‘I’d be delighted to,’ Gryffe lied.

Mrs Schumacher took his arm confidentially and steered his eyes towards Bannerman. ‘Has this young man been trying to sell you vacuum cleaners?’