“I thought I’d lost any chance of getting it. But the opposite turned out to be true. Scott Fitzgerald was right about the rich, Mr. Allon. They are different from you and me. They want everything. And if they can’t have something, they want it more.”

“And Martin wanted you?”

“So it seemed.”

“How did he pursue you?”

“Quietly and persistently. He would call every couple of days, just to chat and swap insights. British politics. Bank of England monetary policy. The budget deficit in America.” She paused, then added, “Very sexy stuff.”

“Nothing personal?”

“Not then,” she said. “After about a month, he finally called me late one night and said a single word: Yes. I got on the next plane to Geneva and spent three days inside Martin’s bubble. Even for a jaded reporter like me, it was an intoxicating experience. When the piece ran, it was an earthquake. It was required reading for businessmen and politicians around the world. And it cemented my reputation as one of the top financial journalists in the world.”

“Did Martin like it?”

“At the time, I didn’t have a clue.”

“No phone calls?”

“Radio silence.” She paused. “I confess I was disappointed when I didn’t hear from him. I was curious to know what he thought of the article. Finally, two weeks after publication, he called again.”

“What did he want?”

“He said he wanted to celebrate the fact that he was the first businessman to survive the slashing pen of Zoe Reed. He invited me to dinner. He even suggested I bring a date.”

“You accepted?”

“Instantly. But I didn’t bring a date. Martin and I had dinner here in London at L’Autre Pied. Afterward, I let him take me back to his hotel. And then…” Her voice trailed off. “Then I let him take me to bed.”

“No qualms about journalistic ethics? No guilt about sleeping with a married man?”

“Of course I had qualms. In fact, I swore to myself it would never happen again.”

“But it did.”

“The very next afternoon.”

“You began seeing him regularly after that?”

She nodded.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but London. My face is far too recognizable here. We always met somewhere on the Continent, usually in Paris, sometimes in Geneva, and occasionally at his chalet in Gstaad.”

“How do you communicate?”

“The normal way, Mr. Allon. Martin’s communications are very secure.”

“For good reason,” Gabriel said. “Any plans to see him in the future?”