‘That’s a lot of stamps.’

‘It is, as a matter of fact. Unique, too. Nearly the entire collection of Tsar Nicholas II. There are gaps, filled in by part of a second collection created by someone else attached to the court.’

Charlie turned so that he was directly facing Willoughby. There was a look of pained rebuke about his expression.

‘I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to become associated with anything connected with the Soviet Union, do you?’ he demanded.

Willoughby had anticipated the reaction. The inept army generals who had chosen Charlie for sacrifice during a Berlin border crossing had been those who had replaced his father in the Department and had led to the old man’s suicide. So he had wanted revenge as much as Charlie. To anyone else, setting the department heads of M.I. 6 and the C.I.A. for humiliating Soviet arrest and then even more humiliating exchange for an imprisoned Russian spymaster could only be construed as traitorous. Charlie had been lucky to escape the combined pursuit of both agencies. No, not lucky. Clever. It had cost him a lot, thought. The assassination of his wife. And the permanent uncertainty of being discovered. Willoughby looked at the other man, pityingly. Charlie Muffin might have survived, upon his own terms, but he’d created a miserable life for himself.

‘Surely there wouldn’t be any harm in discussing it?’ said the underwriter hopefully.

‘Or purpose,’ said Charlie. It was a conversation very similar to this which had sent him to Hong Kong.

‘A discussion might help me decide what to do.’

‘Haven’t you offered cover yet?’

‘Yes,’ said Willoughby, nodding. ‘It’s the protection I’m concerned about.’

‘We can talk about it,’ agreed Charlie, his voice indicating that that was all he was prepared to do.

‘How about tomorrow?’

Charlie frowned at Willoughby’s insistence. ‘All right,’ he said. It would be a way of filling another day. Since Edith’s death he had been very lonely.