‘He’s not sure.’

‘How long’s he been here?’

‘Three years,’ said Blair.

Which meant they had a year to go, if three years were the norm, Ann calculated. Endure it, she thought. She said, ‘Thought about where you’d like to go next, apart from back to Langley?’

Instead of answering, Blair said, ‘What about you? Where would you like to go, if you were given the choice?’

Anywhere, so long as it was away from this damned place, Ann thought. She said, ‘I don’t care where I am, just as long as it’s with you.’

He reached across the table for her hand, and she felt out for his. ‘I love you,’ said Blair. ‘I love you very much.’

‘I love you, too,’ said Ann. ‘Very much.’

Pietr Orlov travelled on a diplomatic passport, which meant he was able to bypass the frustrating delays and formalities at Sheremetyevo airport. It meant, too, that his incoming luggage and freight was spared any Customs examination. He stood watching the dour-faced inspector in head-bent consultation with the official from the Foreign Ministry, guessing both would be resentful of his ability to bring so much back from America. Orlov hoped it wasn’t too much but he wanted it to look right. Someone recalled to Moscow after two years in New York would surely bring back the maximum he was allowed?

The check completed, the Foreign Ministry official came back to Orlov with the manifest. ‘Welcome back’, said the man.

Six months, calculated Orlov. Longer, if necessary. Like returning with the maximum allowance, everything had to look exactly right, if Natalia were to be protected. And Orlov was determined she would be. He’d loved her once, even if he didn’t any longer; not in the way that a man should love his wife, anyway. He was going to take every precaution to ensure her safety. Harriet was as insistent about that as he was; dear, wonderful Harriet.

A year then, if it had to be. Orlov hoped it wouldn’t be as long as that. He didn’t think he could exist for a year, without Harriet.