The mention of money unsettled Kate. Was it possible that Stuart had given this proposal serious consideration? ‘Were you planning to tell me anyway?’

‘Of course. Just not on our first night together.’

Kate searched her husband’s face for any sign of deceit. But all she saw was the steady gaze of the generous, kind, sincere man she had once so loved. She felt, unaccountably, like bursting into tears, and cursed herself for it.

Ever since she’d left the Service, she had spent many hours cloistered with Dr Wiseman, as he mapped her mind, her background, her experience and the driving forces of her personality to eliminate or tone down the elements that held her back, and build on those that drove her successfully on. A few days ago, she’d never felt stronger or better, grateful already for the near breakdown that had persuaded her to leave her old life and commit to constructing a new one.

And now she was slipping back down the well.

‘What is it, Kate?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I’ve upset you.’

‘No. You’ve been honest. And that’s what makes me feel like bursting into tears.’

‘Kate—’

She raised a hand, shifted away from him. ‘It’s all right.’

‘I know how deeply I’ve hurt you. I don’t want to do that ever again.’

Kate stood. He joined her.

She raised a hand again. ‘It’s okay. I just need some time …’ She turned.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.

‘I’d rather be on my own, if you don’t mind. I need to think things through.’

Before he could argue any further, Kate walked on up to the dirt track that crested the hill. She stopped halfway along it and listened to the cicadas and the gentle sway of the trees in the cool night breeze. It was so clear, quiet, still.

She chastised herself for failing to see this coming. She thought of what Stuart had told her on that drive through Russia after Sergei’s assassination a few months ago: that his handlers in Moscow had neglected him to the point of disinterest. Tipping him into a state of desperation, no doubt. Clearly, once they had their hooks into you, they never let go.

She walked on. There were two questions now. Did she really want to remove their hooks from Stuart’s back (and, if so, why)? And how in hell would she achieve it?

There was a deserted house at the far end of the valley. The kids had come back from an exploratory walk this afternoon to say it gave them the creeps. They were both convinced it was where a serial killer kept his victims walled into a basement. If so, he had a particular talent for horticulture. The garden was very neatly tended.

She circled it until she found herself on the other side of the vines. The ground was softer there, from last week’s rain, and the mud stuck to her white sneakers. She stopped again and breathed in the peace and solitude.