He chose a spot in the lobby with two chairs and sat down to wait. Not for long. A car drew up at the hotel entrance and deposited its passenger. His hand resting lightly on his knee clenched.

Laure walked into the foyer and divested herself of her coat at the cloakroom. She searched the foyer, singled him out and headed over, leaving him free to admire the way she appeared not to notice the attention that she was stirring. She wore nothing to shock or impress. In fact, her grey dress was badly cut and achieved something he would not have thought possible, which was to make her elegant body look awkward. Yet, the way she held herself, and her mass of shining hair, could not fail to draw the eye.

He got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘You survived the journey?’

‘Believe it or not.’ She ignored his hand. ‘We are warned that East Berlin is still bandit country at night.’ The hostility was back. ‘David, my boss, who you met the other night, was particularly concerned. A bit of a fusser. I promised him that you’re a player.’

‘Did you now.’

She did not miss a beat. ‘I didn’t think a small detail like regime change and being in a foreign city would prevent you from arranging things to suit you. Am I right?’

Laure was conveying messages. One, the meeting had been vetted. Two, they would be keeping an eye on her during it. Probably the driver of the car.

‘I’ve booked the table,’ he said, by way of reply. ‘Since there is only one sitting, we should go in.’

The dining room was large, taken up at one end by a dance floor and liberally arranged with potted plants. They ended up at a table by the window which overlooked the concrete office block opposite. A dim light burnt in its doorway, which partially revealed the stained concrete and defective windows.

There was a silence, as if they were settling on how to deal with each other. Good-naturedly, he hoped.

‘Petr,’ she said gently. ‘You should lose the habit of staring at people.’

He was startled. ‘Do I stare?’

‘You assess them. You watch them. You’re a European capitalist now.’

He ducked his head. ‘Old habits, eh?’

‘You look in good shape.’ She put her head on one side. ‘It always amazed me how well you dressed. Considering.’ A smile emerged. ‘You haven’t changed.’

He glanced down at his jacket, which, it was true, he had bought in Paris.

‘And I always reckoned your shoes were handmade.’

‘I wouldn’t have gone that far.’ He grinned. ‘Could I?’