It was rather hard but surprisingly comfortable and supported her aching back beautifully. Charlie, who seemed to need no sleep, tapped away at the computer and drank more coffee than was good for any normal human being. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ve done as much as we need. Come and have a look, Ms Journalist.” Helene stretched carefully, feeling every vertebra in her back creak. She missed the comfort and quiet luxury of her own bed. When you get to a certain age, she had decided, sleeping in your own bed was one of life’s great pleasures. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him to look at the computer. The screen was plain black with the words written in white: Langley? White House? Spycatcher?’ There was a button saying ‘Comments’ in the bottom right hand corner. “Nice design,” she said sarcastically. “Minimalist.” His face was impassive. “I thought you’d like it.” Helene looked at his face. What aren’t you telling me, she thought. Then she looked at the web address: www.HeleneofTroy.com “Oh, very funny!”
