Alec Milius Spy Series Books 1 and 2: A Spy By Nature, The Spanish Game

I put as much ambiguity into this as is comfortable to risk, but Katharine doesn’t pick it up.

‘Well, there’s always Fortner’s room,’ she says. ‘I can change the sheets.’

Not what I wanted her to say.

‘That’s a chore. You don’t want to be doing that at this time of night.’

‘No really. It’s no problem.’

I scratch my temple.

‘Look, maybe I should just get a taxi. Maybe you’d prefer it if I went.’

‘No. Stay. I’ll fetch you a blanket.’

‘You have one spare?’

‘Yeah. I got plenty.’

She twists up from the sofa, her left sock hanging loose off the toes, and walks back down the corridor.

‘There you go,’ she says, returning with a green checkered rug draped over her arm. She lays it on the sofa beside me. ‘Need a pillow?’

She yawns again.

‘No, the cushions will be fine.’

‘Okay, then. Well, I’m gonna get some sleep. Shout if you need anything.’

‘I will.’

And she leaves the room.

I am not sure that there was anything else I could have done. For a moment, sex was hovering in the background like a secret promise, but it was too much of a risk to make a move. I could not have been certain of her response. But now I am alone, still clothed, still wide awake, feeling cramped and uncomfortable on a Habitat sofa. I regret talking her into letting me stay the night. I only did it in the hope of being asked to join her in bed. I’d like to be on my way home, working back through the night’s conversations, thinking them through and noting them down. Now I am stuck here for what will be at least six or seven hours.

At around two o’clock, perhaps a little later, I hear the noise of footsteps in the corridor. A quiet tiptoe in the dark. I turn on the sofa to face out into the darkened room, eyes squinting as a light comes on in the passage.

I make out Katharine’s silhouette in the doorway. She pauses there, and the room is so quiet that I can hear her breathing. She is coming towards me, edging forward.

‘Kathy?’

‘Sorry.’ She is whispering, as if someone might hear. ‘Did I wake you?’

‘No. I can’t sleep.’

‘I was just gonna get a glass of water,’ she says. ‘Sorry to wake you. You want one?’

‘No, thanks.’

If I’d said yes, it would have brought her over here. That was stupid.

‘Actually, maybe I will have one.’

‘Okay.’

She turns on a side light in the kitchen and the low hum of the fridge compressor cuts out as she opens the door. A narrow path of bright light floods the floor. She pours two glasses of water, closes the fridge, and comes back into the sitting room.