Her eyes met his and in the light of that room he could see the strain in them. ‘His professor.’

He lay back on the pillow and crossed his hands behind his head. ‘I really don’t know. Right now my subject is sixteenth-century Brazil. The twenty-first century can go screw itself.’

She said nothing. On her face again, that stern expression – when a noise startled her. Her breasts quivered as she twisted around. ‘What’s that?’

Sitting up, he listened to the snarling radiator. ‘Oh, that,’ and lay back. ‘The heating must have come on.’

She turned her head to the wall, and he was not prepared for what she said next. ‘It must be expensive, the Phoenix. For a writer.’

‘It is, it is,’ puzzled by this twist in the conversation.

‘Where will Leandro go next?’

‘Probably not where his friends are going,’ he told her curved back.

‘Perhaps he could be helped?’

Lifting her shoulders, she patted the overcoat like someone still wanting to check the pockets even though she had been through them already. ‘Gennady’s people … they would pay many dollars to discover what Marvar knew.’

His mood had changed, in blade-sharp contrast to the previous moment. He looked out at the Oxford afternoon, not moving his gaze from the window. ‘Maybe they should ask Marvar’s professor. It would be cheaper.’

She shifted her buttocks on the bed. ‘He knows nothing.’

Through the small window, the unflowing canal. A dog was sniffing in the mist at a rubbish bag. The light was fading. It would be time to go soon.

He could taste her cream on his tongue. ‘What about Marvar’s people, what about the Iranians? They might have an idea.’

‘Gennady says only Marvar has this information,’ in her discoloured voice.

A bicyclist pedalled slowly by. Dyer brought his eyes back into the rented room.

‘Why should he think that?’

Her hands were inside the coat, running over the pale lining which had the sheen of something freshly flayed.

‘The Americans. It’s what they believe.’

‘And your husband believes the Americans?’

She made a movement with her head. It was hard to tell what she meant. ‘He believes what he knows.’

‘He knows an awful lot, it sounds.’

Katya shrugged.

He reached for his shirt on the floor. Next to it, her stockings lay crumpled up like a shed skin.

‘The sooner Marvar is found, the better. If you ask me.’

‘Unless,’ she said meditatively, turning, ‘he gave the information to someone else.’

‘Like who?’

He caught the undertow in her eyes. For a second, he saw Vasily’s face.

‘I don’t know. A friend. Perhaps he left it in his coat,’ sliding her hands back into the pockets. She smiled oddly. ‘Perhaps he gave it to you?’