A moment later she is walking through the embassy, one chamber after another, all lit by uncompromising strip lighting and all overfull with files and staff crowded into odd corners by their long-term guest. The Waxman, Neith realises, has the only room with a view of the river. She wonders whether he holds something over them all, or whether it is a gesture of humanity towards a man who will probably never leave this flat except to go to jail.