‘He’ll miss the first few games for sure,’ Gus told his mother. ‘But we’ve got a Sevens tournament in Sussex on the seventh of October, so we reckon he might make that.’

‘I think I’m going to be in the school play,’ Fiona said, not to miss out on the action. ‘December the sixth, seventh and eighth – he’ll definitely be here then?’

It was a statement, thinly disguised as a question, but the potential delay clearly troubled her brother. ‘He’ll be back before that. He’ll be here in early October,’ Gus insisted.

‘Hi,’ Kate said to her husband, failing to warm to the excitement of the scene – and acutely conscious of it.

‘Hi,’ Stuart said. ‘There are no guarantees,’ he told the children. ‘You know that.’ And Kate warmed to him for saving her the trouble. ‘We’ve just got to take each day as it comes, and if your sister turns into a sports correspondent, I’ll be able to watch all of your matches anyway.’

‘I’m not sure I want to video everything,’ Fiona said. ‘My arm nearly fell off.’

‘We’re going to have a big Christmas party,’ Gus said, which was particularly surprising, given that he had previously shown no desire whatsoever to hang out with his parents’ friends. ‘And we’re going skiing in Courchevel at New Year.’

‘Are we indeed?’ Kate tried to smile at Stuart again, the warmth of a few moments before evaporating swiftly.

‘And Corfu next summer,’ Fiona said. ‘Dad can’t wait to see Jay again.’

‘I bet.’

And so it went on. Kate tried her level best not to be riled by the elaborate nature of the plans her children and her husband had cooked up together, not least because they had avoided any hint as to how any of them might be paid for. She’d existed these past few months on her meagre savings, and the time was rapidly approaching when getting a job became a necessity, not a luxury. She made a mental note to check with Shirley Grove that she was being paid for the work she was currently undertaking, at least to the level of her Service salary.

It occurred to her later that Stuart might be mentally spending the cash he’d hoped to generate from putting her with his handlers in the SVR. But the Russians weren’t stupid: they were unlikely to hand over anything until they had seen the colour of her own money.

The call ended and the children flew upstairs in the highest spirits imaginable. For a while, she and Rose contemplated each other over a bottle of white wine at the kitchen table. ‘I’m not going to say anything,’ Rose said, ‘except I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Say away.’

‘I don’t understand how this sudden turnaround has been achieved. How are they under the impression that Stuart is about to return to this country?’

‘I am not sure I told you. It was the price I demanded for taking a walk down Memory Lane.’