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“How could you, Giles? To fall for such an obvious honey trap,” said Gwyneth. “Especially after Harry told you what happened to him in Moscow.”
“I know, I know. I couldn’t have been more stupid. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”
“Didn’t you give me or your family one moment’s thought when this little tart was seducing you?”
“She wasn’t a tart,” said Giles quietly.
Gwyneth was silent for some time before she asked, “Are you saying you knew this woman before all this happened?”
“She was my interpreter.”
“So it was you who seduced her, and not the other way around?”
Giles made no attempt to contradict her. It would have been one lie too many.
“If you’d been set up, or drunk, or just made a fool of yourself, Giles, I might have been able to live with it. But you’d clearly given it some thought before…” She stopped mid-sentence and rose from her chair. “I’m going down to Wales this evening. Please don’t try to get in touch with me.”
Giles sat alone as dusk settled over Smith Square and considered the consequences of having told Gwyneth the truth. Not much point if Karin had been nothing more than a Stasi whore. How easy it would have been for him to tell his wife that Karin was just a tart, a one-night stand, that he didn’t even know her name. So why hadn’t he? Because the truth was, he’d never met anyone quite like her before. Gentle, humorous, passionate, kind, and bright. Oh so bright. And if she didn’t feel the same way about him, why did she fall asleep in his arms? And why did she make love with him again when they woke in the morning, when she could so easily have stolen away in the night, having done her job? Instead, she chose to take just as big a risk as him and was probably suffering the consequences every bit as much as he was.
* * *
Every time the phone rang, Giles assumed it would be a journalist on the other end of the line—We are in possession of some photographs, Sir Giles, and wondered if you’d care to comment …
The phone rang, and he reluctantly picked it up.
“There’s a Mr. Pengelly on the line,” said his secretary.
Pengelly. It had to be Karin’s father. Was he also involved in the setup? “Put him through,” said Giles.
“Good afternoon, Sir Giles. My name is John Pengelly. I’m calling to thank you for your kindness in helping my daughter when you were in East Berlin.” The same gentle West Country burr. “I’ve just read the letter from Karin that you kindly forwarded. It’s the first I’ve had from her in months. I’d almost given up hope.”
Giles didn’t want to tell him why that hope was likely to be short-lived.
“I write to Karin and her mother every week, but I never know how many letters get through. Now you’ve met her, I feel more confident, and will contact the Home Office again.”
“I’ve already spoken to the Home Office department that’s responsible for immigration. However—”
“That’s very kind of you, Sir Giles. My family and I are in your debt, and you’re not even my MP.”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Pengelly?”
“Yes, of course, Sir Giles.”
“Do you think it’s possible that Karin could be working for the Stasi?”
“No, never. She detests them even more than I do. In fact I keep warning her that her unwillingness to cooperate with the authorities could be the reason they won’t grant her a visa.”
“But they gave her a job as an interpreter at an international conference.”
“Only because they were desperate. Karin wrote in her letter there were over seventy delegates from more than twenty countries, and she felt very lucky that she was allocated to you.”
“Not so lucky, because I have to warn you that the press might have got hold of some photographs showing the two of us together, that at best can be described as unfortunate, and at worst—”
“I can’t believe it,” Mr. Pengelly eventually managed. “Karin is normally so cautious, she never takes risks. What came over her?”
“She is in no way to blame, Mr. Pengelly,” said Giles. “It was entirely my fault, and I must apologize to you personally, because if the press find out you’re Karin’s father, they’ll make your life hell.”
“They did that when I married her mother,” said Pengelly, “and I’ve never regretted it.”
