She doubted Ian would have found enough in her personal vetting or recruitment files to reach that conclusion – then bet a whole operation on it. So that left either Stuart or Sergei himself, neither of whom was a palatable possibility. Or Sir Alan, of course. He had worked out very early on that Kate’s friendship with Sergei was more significant than her personnel files seemed to suggest. But how?

Kate texted Fiona. She got a reply straight away. All great here. Everything cool with Rose. Can’t wait for you to be home.

She tried the same with Gus. All OK? A few moments later, his reply made her smile. Fine, he said.

Finally, Kate pulled up Stuart’s number. She stared at it for a long time. Was she really about to go down the road of suspecting him again, of letting doubt poison the reconciliation her children so desperately hungered for?

And what did she actually want? Did she hope for a genuine restoration of the love they’d once known? On that, she just couldn’t get any consistent clarity. She had left France convinced that she knew what she wanted and how to get it, but doubt was creeping back in. Was it really possible Stuart had told his Russian handlers about her unconsummated love affair with Sergei and, if so, could he conceivably have offered it as a weakness to be exploited?

No, no, no. She found herself shaking her head. No, that was not possible. She could not – would not – go there again. She sent Stuart a WhatsApp message: You OK?

Never been better, he shot back. How about you? Is it going to plan?

So far, she replied. You?

Good, he said. The Russians do want to meet. Any idea where?

Kate thought about this, trying not to be irritated by the pressure of one kind or another that Stuart always seemed to provide. Paris, she sent back.

Julie joined her. ‘I saw you talking to yourself from the window, mouthing no, no, no. Are you going mad?’

‘Going?’

Julie was dressed in tennis whites. ‘Are you heading back to the club for some reason or were you just taken by Natasha’s uniform?’ Kate asked.

‘Young Callum is going to teach me tennis.’

‘You’re shameless.’

‘We’re only young once, Kate.’

‘Well, be careful. I’m not picking up the pieces again.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

Julie sashayed off. Kate drained her coffee. Stuart still hadn’t replied and she suddenly had a desire to hear his voice. She called his number and walked down to the terrace by the water’s edge. ‘I can hear seagulls,’ he said, as he answered. ‘Where are you?’

‘Not where I’d like to be. You?’

‘You’re kidding!’ His laugh was still infectious. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion Moscow is the biggest dump on earth. Paris sounds like a much better bet. I’ve just sent them an email. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back. When would suit you?’

‘Next week, perhaps. Not before.’