‘Yes, but not this one. It was my first.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Eight.’ She paced, looking at the picture. ‘Tom Martin had given it to me the weekend my father died. The last time I was here.’ She looked at Lottie. ‘No, that’s not true. The last time was in 2008.’

It always circled back to 2008. Sometimes Lottie was deluded enough to think she could move beyond that summer. Beyond the lies she had told. But looking at her mother now, it was as if 2008 formed a wall Lottie couldn’t climb, no matter how hard she tried, despite having been the perfect university student and having worked hard at her career. No, she would perpetually be the eighteen-year-old who lied to her mother and dire consequences resulted ultimately from the lie.

Lottie couldn’t forgive herself for what had happened to John. But she had hoped that her mother might have tried. Of course because of who her mother was, her name had been dragged into the whole terrible situation. Lottie could never let go of her guilt. It was just a damn good thing her mother didn’t know about the latest jewel in her fool’s crown. Paul was the bloody Koh-i-Noor.

30

Joan

4 August 1962, 8.15 a.m.

As I walk down to the beach, my thoughts linger on waking up to the sound of ‘Happy Birthday’ playing in my dreams until I’d realized that it had been Diana on the piano. I’d groaned, Allan had laughed, and now I smile just thinking about it. I’d wished him happy birthday and he’d asked, ‘Did you drink too much last night?’

As the gulls cry, happily trailing a fishing boat, I stop to think again about Allan this morning. I’d watched him run his hands through his hair while the early rays of the sun caught the tanned skin of his abdomen. Desire rolled through me then and I’d held out a hand. A slow smile had crossed his face as he took it and gave me his cigarette. Chords crashed on the piano below. I winced.

He’d pulled away and grabbed his dressing gown, saying, ‘I think I had better see to Diana before the rest of the house is awoken by her attempts at Mozart.’

‘Shame.’ I pushed myself up, not trying to hide my disappointment.

‘Yes.’ He leaned down and brushed the thin strap of my nightdress aside, so it slipped down revealing my breast. He kissed my collarbone and then worked his way down to my nipple. I gasped, and Diana switched to Beethoven’s Fifth, not her best.

He’d stood with a half-smile lingering on his lips. ‘Tonight.’

‘Yes.’ I’d whispered as he left me wanting, aching and hoping that tonight we could put the past behind us and begin again.

Now I shake off the desire and let the sound of the waves soothe me. Squinting into the distance, I can’t see a cloud in the sky. Today will be fine. Allan needn’t be told that George Russell is my new handler and not Tom. The fewer people who know, the better. Victor is too important to risk and even if I know Allan isn’t a threat, I won’t jeopardise the operation. My small role is nothing in one sense, but essential in another.