It was an improbable place in which to meet, a small restaurant in a lane leading from Bedfordbury towards Trafalgar Square. Four days earlier, when she had driven me to the Prague airport, I had not expected to see her again for, well, at least several years. Now in so unexpectedly short a time she was sitting in front of me, her face revealing the strain of recent events.

‘Irena,’ I said, ‘what do you intend to do? Will you go back?’