“Do you like it?” she asked, beaming.

“The gallery?”

“No. The picture I painted on the blank canvas your friend gave me.” She drew him close. “I want to see you,” she whispered into his ear. “Whatever happened in your previous life, I promise I can make it all better.”

Outside, it was beginning to rain. Keller snared a taxi in Pall Mall and rode it to his maisonette in Queen’s Gate Terrace. After paying off the driver, he stood on the pavement for a long moment and scrutinized the blinds in his many windows. His instincts told him there was danger present. Turning, he crept silently down the steps to the lower entrance and drew the Walther PPK from the small of his back before unlocking the door. He entered his own home in a whirling blur, as he had entered the room in the southeast corner of the house in Zaida, and leveled his gun at the man seated calmly at the kitchen counter.

“Bastard,” he said, lowering the weapon. “That one was close.”

“You really have to stop doing this.”

“Dropping in unannounced?”

“Breaking into my house. What would Mr. Marlowe’s posh Kensington neighbors think if they heard gunfire?” Keller tossed his Crombie overcoat on the marble-topped island, where Gabriel, illuminated by the restrained recessed lighting, sat atop a stool. “You couldn’t find anything to drink in my refrigerator?”

“Tea would be nice, thank you.”

Keller frowned and filled the electric kettle with water. “What brings you to town?”

“A meeting at Vauxhall Cross.”

“Why wasn’t I on the guest list?”

“Need to know.”

“What was the topic?”

“What part of need to know didn’t you understand?”

“Do you want tea or not?”

“The meeting concerned certain suspicious activities related to the Iranian nuclear program.”

“Imagine that.”

“Hard to believe, I know.”

“And the nature of these activities?”

“The Office is of the opinion that the Iranians are conducting weaponization research in North Korea. SIS concurs. It should,” added Gabriel. “We’re sharing the same source.”

“Who is it?”

“Something tells me you’ll know soon enough.”

Keller opened one of the cabinets. “Darjeeling or Prince of Wales?”

“No Earl Grey?”

“Darjeeling it is.” Keller dropped a teabag into a mug and waited for the water to boil. “You missed quite a party tonight.”

“So I heard.”

“Couldn’t fit it into your busy schedule?”

“Didn’t think it would be wise to show my face in a part of London where it is rather well known. Besides, I went to great effort to make Olivia presentable again. I didn’t want to spoil my work.”

“You removed the dirty varnish,” said Keller. “Retouched the losses.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“The article in the Telegraph was a lovely piece of work on your part. With one glaring exception,” added Keller.

“What’s that?”

“The heroic portrayal of Jean-Luc Martel.”

“It was unavoidable.”

“Are you forgetting he put a gun to Olivia’s head?”

“I saw the whole thing.”

“From the cheap seats.”

Keller placed the mug of tea on the island. Gabriel left it untouched.

“Obviously,” he said after a moment, “your feelings for Olivia are clouding your judgment.”

“I have no feelings for her.”

“Spare me, Mr. Marlowe. I happen to know that you were a frequent visitor to Wormwood Cottage during Olivia’s stay there.”

“Did Graham tell you that?”

“Actually, it was Miss Coventry. Furthermore,” Gabriel sailed on, “it has come to my attention that you and Olivia shared an intimate moment tonight at the opening of her gallery.”

“It wasn’t intimate.”

“Would you like to see the photograph?”

Keller wordlessly poured two fingers of whiskey into a cut-glass tumbler. Gabriel blew on his tea.

“Have I not been a good friend to you despite the unfortunate circumstances of our beginning? Have I not offered you sound advice? After all, if it wasn’t for me you’d still be—”

“Your point?” interrupted Keller.

“Don’t make the same mistake I made,” said Gabriel. “Olivia knows more about you than any woman in the world other than that crazy fortune-teller on Corsica, and she’s far too old for you. What’s more, Vauxhall Cross has already rifled through all her dirty laundry, which means SIS won’t stand in the way of your relationship. You were made for each other, Christopher. Grab on to her and never let go.”

“Her past is—”

“Nothing compared to yours,” said Gabriel. “And look how well you turned out.”

Keller held out his hand.

“What?” asked Gabriel.

“Let me see it.”

Gabriel handed his mobile phone across the countertop. “The happy couple,” he said.