I paused, not knowing how to phrase it.

'Good in bed?' she asked quietly.

I almost spilled my drink. 'No. Absolutely not. Well, yes, of course. What I was going to say was possess a degree of breeding. An ability to manage in different social situations. To be someone who could be relied on not to make a fool of themselves. Who can elicit information discreetly, without anyone suspecting them. Basically, do the job without being exposed in any way.'

She nodded.

'So far, you have behaved impeccably. Which I find extraordinary in a runaway mill girl or whatever you are.'

'Were I a runaway mill girl, then you would be right,' she said with a smile.

'I understood . . .'

'That is what your friend assumed, and I did not see why I should tell him my life story. It was hardly his business.'

'So your story is . . . ?'

'Not one that I wish to tell you.'

I frowned.

'There is no need to look like that. Just take it that I have good reasons for being what I am. As for the rest, you have seen how I stand and walk and converse and eat and drink. Do you have any fault?'

'Absolutely none.'

'Do you find me grotesque, unlikely to attract the sort of men I would need to find?'

'No.'

'Do you wish to discover for yourself how good I am?'

I stared, somewhat horrified, at her.

'Come along, sir. We are talking business here. I intend to go into trade selling something, with you as an investor, so to speak. It is surely wise to ensure that the goods are of high quality.'

I was covered in embarrassment at this, at her calm as much as at her proposal. 'I really don't think that is necessary,' I muttered.

'You find me unattractive?'

'Certainly not!'

She smiled faintly. 'I see. You consider yourself a gentleman.'

'No,' I replied. 'That is becoming ever more difficult to credit. But I prefer to consider you a lady.'

The smile vanished. She looked down at the table and said nothing for a while, then looked me straight in the eye. 'I will remember that.'

There was a long, awkward pause between us, then I coughed and tried to restart the conversation. I realised only faintly that she was now in command; the willingness to shock and surprise, the delicate display of emotion, the hint of secrecy, had all so foxed me that I had allowed her to take control.

'My – ah – investment. How do you intend to spend it?'

She was as relieved as I to return to more neutral territory. 'All on clothes, with a little left over for perfume. Jewellery I can rent once I have the clothes to pass as a lady. The bourgeoisie are credit-worthy.'

'I know little about women's clothes, but I doubt they are less expensive in France than in London. I doubt you will get much for a thousand francs. I would hate to see the venture fail for lack of capital.'

'So give me more.'

'I think five thousand will be a more realistic sum,' I continued. 'I will arrange the money tomorrow.'

'You have that much money to give away?'

'Good Lord, no! It's not my money. It's the bank's.'

'The bank's?'

'A long story. But I have discretion to make some payments which do not need to be directly accounted for straight away. And I am not giving it away. However, I will need a strict schedule of payments, otherwise questions will be asked. You will be of service to many people, but the connection must be kept discreet. I should be able to lose you in the accounts.'

'And if I take the money and disappear?'

'You will not.'

'How do you know?'

'Because it is your chance. The only one you will ever get and you know it. And because one day you might accidentally bump into my friend once more.'

'How long are you staying here?'

'I don't know. Another few days.'

'And where might I find you after that?'

I gave her the address of a corresponding bank in Paris. 'You will send letters there, and I will see to the rest.'

'Then there is nothing else to discuss. I will collect your money, and spend it. You will have to hope I am as honest as you believe.' She stood up, and gathered her thin scarf. 'I am, you know, when I can be.'

I escorted her out into the cold of the night, and she slipped off into the darkness.

Lefevre was so furious with me on so many counts it is difficult to remember which loomed largest in his mind, but all his objections stemmed from his anger that I had gone against his wishes. I was there merely to learn from him, not to act independently. He raged at me for an hour, and the extent of his fury taught me much. He was a violent man, full of anger at the world, and he allowed it to cloud his judgement. He also had no understanding of people, I decided. He considered no one trustworthy, so did not try. They were to be threatened or frightened into compliance with his wishes; his methods had no greater subtlety.

To all of this I had one answer. I was not aware I was his employee, and I did not see why I should necessarily follow his orders in anything. I had not risked his money, or even Government money, but taken the risk upon myself. This was not entirely true of course, but it sounded better. I would act as broker between the woman and the Government. If she came up with any useful information, I would sell it on, and use the money to pay off the debt. If she were caught, or proved less trustworthy than I anticipated, then no one would be able to trace it to Her Majesty's Government. Better still, I would arrange for all moneys to be paid out of the Bank of Bremen's office in Paris, so that, should suspicion fall on anyone, it would be assumed the Germans were her masters. I was rather proud of that.

He was not mollified. In fact, the realisation that I had thought the matter through made him angrier still. 'You're weak, and stupid,' he screamed at me, then his voice fell. 'Like father, like son,' he hissed.

'What does that mean?'

'Your father's a weakling, always was. Couldn't look after himself, couldn't look after you . . .'

'He's ill.'

'Weak in the head. I know all about your father. Picking flowers, that's all he's ever been good for.'

I hit him. It was in better circumstances than the last time I'd tried, and I didn't even have to think about it; I just lashed out and my fist smashed into his face. With most people that would have been enough, but not with Lefevre. He was much tougher than most people. I had hurt him, but not enough to stop him. He took a step back, then came at me like a steam engine, grappling with me and knocking me against the chest-of-drawers in the hotel room. But if he had strength and years of bitterness on his side, I had agility and weeks of bubbling resentment on mine. I twisted, rammed his head against the wall and rolled across the floor. He hurled himself on me and began pounding at my face with his fists, while I instinctively kneed him in the stomach. The mirror fell off the wall and smashed onto the floor when he hurled me bodily across the room; the bed collapsed when we fell on it, my arm tight around his throat.

He won. He simply had more stamina, could take more punishment than I could. He left me, barely conscious, gasping for breath on the floor, standing over me but also only just able to keep upright, the blood pouring from his nose. The he kneeled down, and held a knife to my throat for a few seconds before stumbling out of the room.

'If I ever set eyes on you again, I will kill you, do you understand?'

I had no doubts that he meant it.

I did not see him again, not that night nor the next day. He simply vanished, leaving no note behind him, leaving me to pay the hotel bill and explain the destruction in the bedroom. In retrospect I accept that I was wrong. His life was more at risk than mine should anything go badly, and he had spent much of the last quarter century exercising caution and surviving. If he trusted no one it was not simply because of a fundamental ill-will in his nature, it was from bitter experience. And he was getting old; I reminded him of his failing powers, and how different his life had been from his earlier, more optimistic expectations. Had he been less closed, less distrustful, we might have established a useful co-operation based on mutual respect, if not warmth.