How long had she been here? Three hours? Four? The goons were nasty. It had only been only with the greatest difficulty that she had persuaded the young bully of a guard to give her a drink of water and allow her to use the lavatory. She wasn’t frightened so much as angry and desperate to know where Tomas and the others might be.

Aware that she should be more alarmed for herself and it was stupid to downplay the situation, she could not help being fascinated by the tin-pot quality of the set-up. Plastic chairs and an awkwardly hooked-up phone were not, in her book, props for the ultra-threatening.

For the nth time she checked her watch. The big hand was on its path to ten o’clock. On the dot the door opened to admit a man in neat grey trousers and a pressed shirt whom she vaguely recognized.

‘Good evening, I’m Major Hasίk,’ he said in formal English, placing a briefcase on the floor. ‘We have met before with your friend Tomas Josip. I’m going to ask you a few questions and then I very much hope you can return to your place of employment.’ He sat down in the chair opposite her. ‘Are you thirsty?’

She shook her head. ‘Why am I here?’

He peered at her. ‘I have a feeling you think you’re being harassed. Is that correct?’ Laure did not reply. ‘Just to show that is not the case we have telephoned your employer and asked him to come in. You will be more comfortable with him on the premises.’

‘How thoughtful.’

‘He’ll be bringing in your passport which will allow us to verify that you are who you say you are.’

Laure had been asked to cite her name, nationality and occupation at least five times. ‘That will be a relief.’

‘You shouldn’t make fun of this process.’ He was mild, ingratiating even. ‘It is very necessary, you know.’

She caught a flash of ruthlessness and cunning. She shifted in her seat.

He glanced down at the file he had brought in with him. ‘Your boyfriend is a member of Anatomie. How long have you known him?’

‘Four months.’

‘How often do you meet?’

‘Twice, three times a week. Whenever it’s possible.’

‘Do you sleep with him?’

She licked her lips which had gone dry. ‘Is that relevant?’

He looked at her. ‘You do, then.’ He got up and came and stood behind her chair. ‘And what is your pillow talk, Miss Carlyle?’

‘Is that your business?’

He bent down and put his mouth close to her ear. ‘If it involves ideas that are forbidden, it is.’ He returned to his seat. ‘What are your boyfriend’s politics?’

Her dry lips were giving her trouble and her heart was thumping. ‘I have no idea.’

‘That’s a stupid answer. If you are involved with someone you will know.’