I take a deep breath, gathering the dead blooms in my hands. Things will be fine. This morning showed me that. Allan still wants me. I want him. My life has taught me repeatedly that love can grow. Back in Moscow for the second half of August, without others around for distraction Allan and I will be able focus on each other. We can walk in the park, we can talk about where we go in the future. I don’t want to try for another baby but if he really does, then I will do that for him. But maybe he’ll see how each child we have lost has pulled us apart. Parts of me are missing. But enough of the past. I must think of the future. I smile. Tonight I am looking forward to being in Allan’s arms again. Being the sole focus of his attention, his passion. My face flushes at the thought.

‘Mummy.’ Diana runs out of the dining room and catapults into my arms. This is love. This and Allan’s is enough. We walk hand in hand until she veers off to the kitchen, no doubt to consult on some aspect of Allan’s birthday cake.

Jaded smiles greet me in the dining room. I hadn’t sensed that people had drunk too much. I must be more observant. There is no room for mistakes at the moment. After filling my plate from the sideboard, I sit opposite Tom and glance at The Times, which makes for uncomfortable reading. Being in Boskenna, the Soviet Union and its threat feel far away. But I just have to catch Tom’s glance across the table and the Russian bear is sitting in the room. The knowledge that the whole operation could be blown had chased around in my dreams creating a restless sleep. I pause and try and swallow. The toast in my mouth is dry despite the butter and Mrs Hoskine’s marmalade. I read the report on the Archbishop of Canterbury’s four-day visit to Moscow. That must have kept those on duty at the embassy on their toes. Talks of future exchanges. Hah.

Folding the paper, between nerves and outright fear, I can’t face the food on my plate. I need to be busy but what to do? Nothing for the moment. Sit still, be charming. A sigh escapes me. Here in Cornwall I am useless. At least in Moscow I play my part.

‘Telegraph reports much the same.’ Tom takes a sip of his tea. No one else at the table would take any notice of the conversation. ‘But it does look like we will have good weather for today and tomorrow.’ He raises an eyebrow and those blue eyes twinkle ever so slightly.