* * *
The second day of the conference became more and more frenetic as the delegates attempted to close deals so they wouldn’t have to return home empty-handed. Giles felt quite pleased when the East Germans agreed to remove their import tariffs on British pharmaceuticals, and delighted, although he tried not to show it, when his French counterpart hinted that if the British government were to issue an official invitation for the French president to visit Britain in the new year, it would be seriously considered. He wrote down the words “seriously considered” so there could be no misunderstanding.
As always happens on these occasions, meetings began to run late and to continue into the evening; so Giles ended up scheduling one before dinner, with an East German trade minister, one during, with his Dutch counterpart, and finally one after dinner with Walter Scheel, the West German foreign minister. He asked Karin to join them for dinner, having decided that if she was working for the Stasi, she was a better actress than Peggy Ashcroft. And if she agreed, he just hoped she’d let her hair down.
Karin reminded him that the Dutch minister spoke fluent English, and suggested that they might prefer to dine alone. But Giles thought it would be helpful for her to be there, just in case anything was lost in translation.
He couldn’t help wondering if any of his fellow delegates had noticed how often he had turned around during his afternoon session with the trade minister to look more closely at his interpreter, pretending to listen intently to her translation while in fact hoping to be rewarded with that smile. But when she turned up for dinner wearing a stunning off-the-shoulder red silk dress, which certainly hadn’t been purchased from a comrades’ cooperative store, with her auburn hair hanging loosely below her shoulders, Giles couldn’t take his eyes off her, although she continued to feign not to notice.
When he returned to his suite for the final meeting of the evening, Scheel wasted no time in pressing his government’s case. “Your import tax on BMW, Volkswagen, and Mercedes is hitting our car industry hard. If you can’t lift it, can you at least lower it?”
“I’m afraid that’s just not possible, Walter, as we’re only a few weeks away from a general election, and the Labour Party is hoping for large donations from Ford, BMC, and Vauxhall.”
“You’ll have no choice when you become a member of the EEC,” said the German, smiling.
“Amen to that,” said Giles.
“At least I’m grateful for your candid response.” The two men shook hands, and as Scheel turned to leave, Giles put a finger to his lips and followed him out of the room. He looked up and down the corridor before asking, “Who’s going to replace Ulbricht as General Secretary?”
“The Soviets are getting behind Honecker,” said Scheel, “and frankly I can’t see anyone beating him.”
“But he’s a weak, sycophantic man, who’s never had an original thought in his life,” said Giles, “and would end up being nothing more than a stooge, just like Ulbricht.”
“Which is precisely why the Politburo is backing him.”
Giles threw his hands up in the air. Scheel could only manage a wry smile. “See you in London after the election,” he said, before heading off in the direction of the lift.
“Let’s hope so,” murmured Giles. When he returned to his room, he was pleased to find that Karin was still there. She opened her bag, took out an envelope, and handed it to him.
“Thank you, Sir Giles.”
Giles looked at the name and address on the envelope, placed it in an inside pocket, and said, “I’ll post it to your father just as soon as I’m back in England.”
“I know my mother would appreciate that.”
“It’s the least I can do,” said Giles as he walked over to the side table, picked up the bottle of champagne, and handed it to her. “A small token of my gratitude for all your hard work. I hope you and your mother will enjoy it.”
“It’s very kind of you, Sir Giles,” she whispered, handing the bottle back, “but I wouldn’t get as far as the front door before the Stasi took it away from me,” she added, pointing at the chandelier.
“Then let’s at least share a glass together.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Sir Giles, considering—”
“Now that we’re on our own, I think you can call me Giles,” he said as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. He raised his. “Let’s hope it won’t be too long before you’re reunited with your father.”
Karin took a sip and then placed the glass on the table. “I must go,” she said, and thrust out her hand.
Giles took it and drew her gently toward him. She pushed him away.
“This mustn’t happen, Giles, because then you’ll only think—”
He started to kiss her before she could say another word. As they kissed, he undid the zip on the back of her dress, and when it fell to the ground he took a pace back, wanting to touch every part of her body at once. He took her back into his arms and when they kissed again, her lips parted as they fell onto the bed. He looked into her brown eyes and whispered, “If you work for the Stasi, don’t tell me until after I’ve made love to you.”