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Dick eased himself out of bed, slipped into the bathroom and took a long shower. Once he had dried himself, he put on one of the hotel’s toweling dressing gowns and returned to the bedroom. He crept over to his wife’s side of the bed and once again refilled her empty glass with tap water. She had clearly woken during the night, but not disturbed him.

He drew the curtains before checking that the Do Not Disturb sign was still on the door. He returned to his wife’s side of the bed, pulled up a chair and began to read the Herald Tribune. He had reached the sports pages by the time she woke. Her words were slurred. She managed, “I feel awful.” A long pause followed before she added, “Don’t you think I ought to see a doctor?”

“He’s already been to examine you, my dear,” said Dick. “I called for him last night. Don’t you remember? He told you that you’d caught a fever, and you’ll just have to sweat it out.”

“Did he leave any pills?” asked Maureen plaintively.

“No, my darling. He just said you weren’t to eat anything, but to try and drink as much water as possible.” He held the glass up to her lips and she attempted to gulp some more down. She even managed, “Thank you,” before collapsing back onto the pillow.

“Don’t worry, my darling,” said Dick. “You’re going to be just fine, and I promise you I won’t leave your side, even for a moment.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She fell asleep again.

The only time Dick left Maureen’s side that day was to assure the housekeeper that his wife did not wish to have the sheets changed, to refill the glass of water on her bedside table, and late in the afternoon to take a call from the minister.

“The President flew in yesterday,” were Chenkov’s opening words. “He’s staying at the Winter Palace, where I’ve just left him. He wanted me to let you know how much he is looking forward to meeting you and your wife.”

“How kind of him,” said Dick, “but I have a problem.”

“A problem?” said a man who didn’t like problems, especially when the President was in town.

“It’s just that Maureen seems to have caught a fever. We were out in the sun all day yesterday, and I’m not sure that she will have fully recovered in time to join us for the signing ceremony, so I may be on my own.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Chenkov, “and how are you?”

“Never felt better,” said Dick.

“That’s good,” said Chenkov, sounding relieved. “So I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock, as agreed. I don’t want to keep the President waiting.”

“Neither do I, Anatol,” Dick assured him. “You’ll find me standing in the lobby long before nine.”

There was a knock on the door. Dick quickly put the phone down and rushed across to open it before anyone was given a chance to barge in. A maid was standing in the corridor next to a trolley laden with sheets, towels, bars of soap, shampoo bottles and cases of Evian water.

“You want the bed turned down, sir?” she asked, giving him a smile.

“No, thank you,” said Dick. “My wife is not feeling well.” He pointed to the Do Not Disturb sign.

“More water, perhaps?” she suggested, holding up a large bottle of Evian.

“No,” he repeated firmly and closed the door.

The only other call that evening came from the hotel manager. He asked politely if madam would like to see the hotel doctor.

“No, thank you,” said Dick. “She just caught a little sun but she’s on the mend, and I feel sure she will have fully recovered by the morning.”

“Just give me a call,” said the manager, “should she change her mind. The doctor can be with you in minutes.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” said Dick, “but it won’t be necessary,” he added before putting the phone down. He returned to his wife’s side. Her skin was now pallid and blotchy. He leaned forward until he was almost touching her lips—she was still breathing. He walked across to the fridge, opened it and took out all the unopened bottles of Evian water. He placed two of them in the bathroom, and one each side of the bed. His final