I headed back down the hall and opened the door to the same young woman: mid-twenties, straight brown shoulder-length hair, no make-up and wearing blue jeans and an anorak. A brown leather satchel was slung across her body, and she clutched the strap and gazed at me with small grey eyes which widened suddenly. “It’s here, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve got the right place – I tried the first two houses, but this is it. I’m Stella Rimington.”

“Er…” Her name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “I don’t –”

“You know David Cornwell.”

“Who? Maybe…I’m not sure.”

“Of course. I understand.” She beamed at me. “Don’t worry, I…ooh.” She clutched her stomach and swayed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m pregnant – I just found out.”

“Oh.” Fantastic. I wished I hadn’t answered the door. What if she needed an ambulance? She might collapse on my doorstep, and I had no idea what to do.

“I feel a bit faint.” Stella Rimington stepped forward, and I felt compelled to reverse. “Could I come in for a moment?

“Yes, er, no problem.” I stood back. She walked past me, turned into the living room, and I closed the door and hurried after her. She was standing by the sideboard, holding on as though her life depended on it. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Could I have some water?” She managed a wan smile.

“Yes, yes, of course.” I trotted into the kitchen, found a glass and filled it with cold water. Elvis barked and scratched the back door, so I opened it and gave him a stern look. “We have a visitor, so behave, and don’t go charging into the living –”

He barged past me and charged into the living room. I heard a shriek. I felt like screaming myself by that point, but I took a few deep breaths and carried the glass of water through to my unexpected guest. Stella Rimington sat in one of the armchairs, satchel clutched to her chest, feebly trying to shoo Elvis away. I gave her the water, grasped my dog’s collar and hauled him back to the settee, where I flopped down and tried to regain control of the situation. “I’m not sure how I can help you.”

If she produced religious pamphlets, I decided I’d let Elvis go, and she could take her chances, pregnant or not. She sipped water, her gaze travelling the room. “The cabinet.” She gaped at my second-hand drinks unit. “It’s just the way I imagined it.”

“Uh-huh…” I stared at the cabinet, silently willing it to develop the capacity for sentience and help me out. But, since this didn’t happen, I turned back to Ms Rimington. “Are you feeling better?” Well enough to leave, hopefully.

She leaned forward. “I shouldn’t have mentioned David’s name. I’m sorry, I was so excited to meet you.”

“You were?” I wondered who she thought I was. As far as I was aware, I didn’t look like any film star or famous person.

“You’re the handler, aren’t you?” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry - there I go again. It’s just that he told me so much about you, in confidence, of course.”

“Of course.” My voice sounded like someone else’s as I scrambled to make sense of the conversation.

“David’s training me. He says if I make the grade, the CIA will take me on too.” She nodded. “It’s all hush-hush, but I don’t have to tell you that.” She looked around again. “This place…it’s so perfect. It looks like an ordinary house in an ordinary street, but no one would guess what goes on here, would they?” She lowered her voice. “Is this room bugged? No, don’t answer that, sorry.”

At this point, I decided I’d let an escaped psychiatric patient into my home and began planning how to distract her while I phoned the authorities. Then she relaxed, sat back and smiled. “You probably don’t know my name because that’s a new alias; David only gave it to me recently. But you might know me by my first code-name: Nicola X.”

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I let go of Elvis’s collar. The sound of rushing waves filled my head as I watched Jeff’s bit on the side try to stop my dog from climbing onto her lap. Why was she here? She’d come alone. Where was Jeff? And then it hit me.

She’s pregnant.

Jeff had finally got what he’d wanted all those years ago – the one thing I couldn’t give him. I tried to concentrate on this, work out how I felt, and decide how to handle the situation. But my mind wouldn't settle. All I could think was:

What is all this crap about the CIA?

“I’m guessing this dog is part of the test.” Stella – or whatever her real name was – wrestled Elvis to the floor. “David said you would be strict.”

“Yes, that’s right.” I rose and grabbed Elvis, then reversed to the settee, where he clambered up and sat beside me. We stared at the stranger, pregnant with my husband’s child, and she beamed back. Then, a cold, steely resolve appeared from nowhere and clambered up my spine. “I have some questions for you.”

“Of course.” She clasped her hands in her lap and waited.

“When and where did you meet Jeff?”

“You’re using his old code name.” Her tone was admiring. “I know him as David, now, but perhaps I’m indiscreet? Is it better to use older names that can’t be traced?”

I bit back hysterical laughter and kept my face stony. “We’ll use both.”

“Oh.” She stared, rapt. “That’s so clever.”

“When and where.”

“Oh, yes, yes. I was renting a room in Lufton, but I left my job in the supermarket, and I used to go to the park every day. That’s where I met David, er, Jeff, in February.”

When he left Bayfield Engineering. “How often did you see him?”

“Every day. We met in the park first thing in the morning, then he’d take me in his car. He was recruiting, and he thought I’d make an excellent agent.”

“Uh-huh. And the baby…it’s his?”

“We fell in love. It happens.”

“And…” I couldn’t decide what to ask next; the whole thing was becoming even more preposterous. “How does he feel about the pregnancy?”

She sighed. “I haven’t had the chance to see him, so he doesn’t know yet. I want to tell him face to face.”

“And what about the money?”

“Money?” Her face puckered. “What money?”

“Trick question. You’re doing well.” She beamed again, and I almost felt sorry for her. “Where is Jeff?”

“Moving around, that’s all I know.”

“How does he communicate with you?”

“Different mobiles. He messages me, then throws the sim card away.”

I channelled my inner ‘M’ for all I was worth. “And what is your next move?”

“I’m waiting for my new challenge, but you know that, don’t you? Jeff’s operating on your orders.”

“Very good.” I got to my feet. “You are dismissed.” My super-cool-agent façade was marred slightly when I was forced to lunge and grab Elvis as he made a dash for our visitor.

“Understood.” She handed me the glass I’d given her, and, for one ridiculous moment, I thought she might salute. But, instead, she smiled, nodded and made for the door. “I’ll see myself out. Thank you.”

I heard my unwanted guest leave, then turned to the window and watched her march out of the garden and down the street. “Bloody hell, Elvis. What just happened?”

Elvis didn’t know. I took the glass through to the kitchen, made myself a coffee, and returned to the settee. My husband’s mistress was carrying his baby. How did I feel?

Elvis trotted into the room. “If anything, I feel relieved,” I said. “Not sad or regretful. Why?”

Elvis didn’t know that, either. He dropped a rubber ball at my feet, I kicked it towards the bookcase, and my gaze fell on a row of Jeff’s well-thumbed paperbacks. “Oh, God – 0f course.” Stella Rimington writes spy novels, and John Le Carré’s real name was David Cornwell.

My husband thought he was Harry Palmer.

“This would be funny if it wasn’t so…bizarre,” I told Elvis, and he stopped by the settee and stared at me. “What is it?” I glanced at the sunburst clock on the wall. “Dinner time?” Elvis danced in anticipation, and I drained my coffee and rose. “Good to know one of us is well trained.”

I fed Elvis, shoved a ready meal in the microwave, and ate it, thinking about Nicola X's visit. The pregnancy. Jeff’s deceit. The ridiculous notion that I was his ‘handler’ and the fact that she’d swallowed the whole thing. She was having his baby. I considered this for one last time and then looked at Elvis, waiting expectantly by my side. “I don’t give a damn. I really don’t.” I gave him the last piece of chicken. “Let’s go walkies.”

I took Elvis out, turned away from the prom, and headed up Hill Street to the cliff-top path that winds over the moor. We walked for an hour, then came down Moor Road, to the seafront. I marched Elvis along the opposite side to the café and didn’t look at it once. We passed Mrs Darrow’s house, and I congratulated myself on steering clear of the sexy chef – and then the man himself appeared in front of me, hand in hand with Steph.

The waitress smirked at me. Her smirk disappeared when Paul let go of her hand and crouched to greet Elvis and scratch his ears. “Hello, boy. We’ve just been up on the cliff.”

“So were we,” I said. “It’s a lovely walk.”

“Be even better if we had a dog.” Paul rose and grinned at me, and I re-channelled my inner ‘M’ and stayed calm.

“Maybe I could hire Elvis out.” I smiled, and the waitress looked like she wanted to stab me. I couldn’t read Paul’s expression. “But you’d need insurance against random ball-stealing and general madness.”

“I’ll check our policy.” Paul laughed. Steph grasped his hand again, and he looked uncomfortable. An awkward silence fell.

“Nice meeting you.” I tugged Elvis away and skirted around them. “Bye.”

“Bye, Marnie,” Paul said before his girlfriend dragged him down to the promenade. I looked over my shoulder and saw them crossing the road, no longer holding hands.

“I don’t care about him either,” I said as we went inside our cottage, and Elvis looked at me as if to say, Yeah, right.

I washed the dinner dishes, read an Agatha Christie novel, and went to bed.