Rose met her gaze, those pale blue eyes filled with tears. ‘I know that nothing I say will ease the sting of my betrayal. But all I can tell you is that the first step is so easy,’ she said. ‘They ask for such small things. I somehow convinced myself that I could give them inconsequential detail. I tried many times to wriggle out of it, but in the end, I couldn’t manage the alternative, which was to tell Simon the full truth of what I’d done. And once you’ve taken those first tentative steps, Igor never allows you to look back. He’s a man without mercy.’

‘I can’t – I won’t – offer you sympathy or understanding, still less forgiveness.’

‘I would never ask you to.’

They were silent, but for the sound of the wind in the trees. It tugged at their hair. What was there left to say?

The two plainclothes Met officers had appeared by the side gate. They walked slowly across the perfectly manicured lawn, a verdant green now in the bright early-morning sunlight. Rose stood. She adjusted her dress. ‘Goodbye, Kate.’

‘Goodbye.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her aunt following the officers back to the gate. She would not – she could not – bear to turn around to watch her go.

Epilogue

Three months later

IAN GRANGER WAS like Tigger on steroids. He bounced into the SIS dining room on the top floor and it was all Kate could do to stop him throwing his arms around her. She put a hand on his shoulder and offered him her cheek. ‘So good to see you,’ he said, as she sat the other side of a table laid for two. ‘Not bad, eh?’ he said, gesturing at their surroundings, including the butler who was waiting to serve them breakfast, as if she had never been there before.

No one sitting there could dispute the sentiment. The wood-panelled room afforded a view of the river in both directions so that it looked as if you might hit the House of Commons with one well-aimed stone throw. Whoever had designed this building had known his business.

Ian wore a tweed jacket with a bold purple check, black jeans and scuffed suede Chelsea boots. He hadn’t bothered to clip his blond curls and she was surprised that a sartorial style she had long viewed as a cry for attention had survived his elevation to one of the most powerful jobs in the country. She acknowledged to herself she might have maligned him, in more ways than one.

He sat, made a fuss of flapping out his napkin and settling it on his lap. There was already fruit, cereal and toast on the table. The butler offered eggs, bacon and more, but they both declined. Ian poured her coffee. ‘White?’ he asked.

‘Black.’

‘I should do the same.’ He patted his expanding midriff. ‘I need to lose a few pounds. This job’s no good for your bloody waistline, I’ll say that. I don’t know how Alan managed to stay so lean.’