George Smiley no longer lived in No. 9. I knew it as soon as I saw the new door. Red. A come-hither hue so incongruent to, well, everything George is known to us to be. His abhorrence for attention. His diffident nature. Perhaps, if the goal was to hide in plain sight, a shouty red door would be the perfect blind for a tubby, clumsy, bespectacled man who would ordinarily merit no more than a passing glance. But…a red door would just be too much, I think.