‘Eva was a very good and wonderful person,’ he said. ‘I was lucky to have her as a wife. It was just… things got too much.’

Was he imagining it but had Laure moved a little closer? Her cheek was almost resting against his.

Together, they danced on and Petr felt happiness brush over him, as light as gossamer.

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘Life can be cruel.’

He pulled her up against him.

She smelt of flowers. Her body was warm and yielding – as if it belonged under his hand. What he felt for her was so strong, so immutable, that it took his breath away.

Without warning, she came to a halt. ‘Shall we sit down?’

They sat down and ordered more coffee. ‘Let’s not talk about Eva any more,’ he said and she nodded.

The evening was coming to an end and he waited for the coup de grâce which would be the reason Laure asked to meet him.

It came.

The folds of her unsuccessful dress had ridden up a little, exposing the long legs that had been barely hidden by the short cotton dresses during that summer of 1986. At the sight, a rush of longing swept over him. And tenderness.

She folded her hands in her lap. ‘Petr, I know you know what happened to Tomas. When we first met in Berlin, you suggested it. Why won’t you tell me?’

He remembered the wind blowing smoke and grit between him and the waiting Laure at that station just over the Czechoslovakian border. ‘I realized it’s best to leave things as they are.’

‘You were having me on. I should have known.’ She paused before continuing. ‘You insist that it wasn’t you who betrayed Tomas,’ she said collectedly enough but her knuckles had turned white. ‘That’s not the whole truth, is it?’

All those years of tormented introspection. He didn’t like to tally what they had cost him. Or her. ‘As I said,’ he countered. ‘My family was at risk.’

‘What will it take, Petr?’

He was well versed in the tiny shifts in power play between people.

He looked into her eyes. What will it take?

Hers widened.

‘Hallo, you two,’ said a voice behind Petr.

‘We were just passing,’ said a female voice that Petr vaguely recognized. ‘And here you are.’

‘David. Sonia,’ said Laure who did not seem as surprised as she should. ‘You remember Petr Kobes from the party? I worked for him in Prague. Petr, you will remember my boss David Brotton and his wife, Sonia. Would you like to join us for a nightcap?’

Navy blue dress with white seams. The woman at the party.

As suspected, Laure had run this meeting through the embassy machinery which indicated a careful turn of mind and fastidious observance of protocol. He signalled to the waiter.