‘Yeah, right,’ he said, still waving the waiter over. ‘Two more kvasnicová,’ he told the man.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Seriously.’ But the waiter turned away and, strangely, Kate did not get to her feet. Was she too pissed? ‘We have to go,’ she said.

‘We don’t.’

‘We do. We absolutely do.’

But she still didn’t move and it gradually dawned on her that what was keeping her fixed in her seat was not encroaching inebriation – though, God knows, she was very drunk – but the power of his smile. ‘This is like sorcery,’ she muttered to herself.

‘Relax,’ he said.

‘No. That’s an even worse idea.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘Give me a moment.’ She picked up her bag and disappeared towards the Ladies. Once out of view, she leant against the wall and breathed in deeply. What the hell was she playing at? She took out her phone, pulled up Stuart’s message and stared at it, as if this act alone would bring her to her senses. She replied: All set. See you in the town square at noon and then fifteen minutes later, by the astronomical clock.

She waited, drumming her fingers impatiently against the wall behind her. Stuart replied: They insist on setting venue.

No, she replied. In the Old Town Square or the meeting is off.

Roger that, he replied finally. I’ll tell them.

Kate slipped the phone back into her pocket and went into a cubicle. She had a pee, then sat with her head between her legs as her vision swam. It reminded her of the terror of being pregnant on the St Petersburg to Moscow night train after her few minutes of passion with Sergei. But it had been worth the wait. She finished, straightened and went to stare at herself in the mirror while she washed her hands. The woman who gazed back at her seemed older than the one she thought she knew, but perhaps that was the impact of the booze again.

She returned to the table. ‘I need to turn in,’ she said. ‘You finish up.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. He stood, scooping up his khaki cotton jacket from the seat beside him.

‘We should probably pay,’ she said.

‘I have.’

‘Thank you.’ She led the way out of the restaurant to the square beyond and was confident that after the exchange with Stuart and the memory of her time with Sergei on the train – in which she had strangely blotted out entirely the terrible aftermath – she was back in control. And she remained so, until she stumbled on the first step of the hotel staircase and he caught her arm, then her hand, which sent a sharp snap of electric current right through her.

At the turn of the stair, he slipped his hand into hers.

On the landing above, he turned her in the semi-darkness and stooped to kiss her against the wall by the old-fashioned lift. She might have said no – perhaps she had that much wit about her – but she was old enough to know that her body sent out precisely the opposite message.