In London two days later, and staying with Munro again, Harry caught a taxi to Guy’s Hospital to keep an appointment which Molly had arranged at the casualty department. He reported to reception and sat on one of the benches. It was busy, most places taken, but within a few minutes a nurse came for him.
‘This way, Wing Commander.’
He followed her along a corridor and into a surgical theatre. Molly, in a white coat, was seated at a bench.
‘There you are. Let’s take a look. Tell Professor Joseph I’m ready for him,’ she said to the nurse.
Harry said, ‘Is it going to hurt?’
‘Always, so the best way is the quick way.’ She ripped the surgical tape away in one deft movement. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
‘Like hell it wasn’t.’
The door opened and a grey-bearded and pleasant-looking man in a white surgical coat entered. ‘Right, Molly, what have we here?’
‘Wing Commander Kelso got slightly damaged in aerial combat,’ she said. ‘Came down in the sea, so the wound received a very satisfactory cleansing.’
‘Let’s take a look.’ He examined Harry’s face and nodded. ‘Very nice, Molly, you should take up embroidery. You are, of course, going to have a rather permanent scar, Wing Commander.’
‘I can stand it if Molly can.’
‘Like that, is it? Excellent.’ Joseph put an arm around her shoulders. ‘But don’t take her away just yet, Wing Commander. There is a war on, remember.’
He went out and Molly said, ‘I’m not going to tape you up again. Especially after all that salt water. It’s healing already so we’ll leave it open to the air.’ She picked up a can. ‘A little antiseptic spray and you’ll be fine.’
When she was finished he said, ‘What now? Do you have time for lunch?’
‘I’m free now, actually, but I had a phone call from my uncle. He wants you back at Haston Place. Air Vice Marshal West wants words with you.’
‘Okay. Maybe we can have lunch later.’
‘We’ll see. I’ll be back in a moment,’ and she went out.
At Haston Place, they went upstairs to the flat and when Molly rang the bell, it was Jack Carter who opened the door. He kissed her on the cheek and turned to Harry and shook hands.
‘It’s wonderful to see you in one piece.’
‘I think it’s wonderful too,’ Harry said.
Laughter came from the sitting room and Carter led the way in. There was Munro and West and an American major-general with pilot’s wings. The big surprise was General Eisenhower sitting on the window seat.
‘What is this, a conspiracy?’ Harry asked Molly.
‘Not at all,’ Munro said. ‘Molly had no idea the Supreme Commander would be here.’
‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ she murmured and moved to the major-general and kissed him. ‘Hello, Dad.’
Eisenhower got up and held out his hand. ‘Wing Commander, you’re an extraordinary man. I don’t think you’ve met Molly’s father, Tom Sobel.’
Sobel was of medium height with a black moustache and hair, no sign of grey there at all. He had the sort of face that most military men of high rank had, the kind that didn’t take kindly to interference. His handshake was firm.
‘It’s an honour to meet you, son.’
‘Fine, so now we’ve got the pleasantries over, to business,’ Eisenhower said. ‘I gave you a week.’
‘I told you how I feel, General.’
‘Listen to me,’ Sobel told him. ‘I was in the Lafayette Squadron in the first war and when our people came in I didn’t want to transfer, but I did because I was needed. The same with you. You’ve served magnificently with the RAF, but it’s time to put on your country’s uniform.’
There was a silence. Eisenhower said, ‘I can make it a direct order.’
It was West who said smoothly, ‘The agreement between our two air forces is that American personnel would transfer, American uniform and equivalent rank, but anyone into a tour with the RAF would finish that tour. I believe that Wing Commander Kelso has a wee bit of tour left to go.’
Eisenhower gave him a sharp look. ‘Okay, tell me the worst.’
‘Wing Commander Kelso has just started a tour with our most important Special Duties Squadron.’
‘How many missions?’ Sobel demanded.
‘One, actually, and as Special Duties Squadrons do sixty missions in a tour he has fifty-nine to go.’ He turned to Ike. ‘Of course, some of these missions are flying you, sir, for the Courier Service.’
Eisenhower stared at West for a long moment, then he burst out laughing and even Sobel smiled. ‘You sly fox,’ Ike said. ‘And you, Brigadier. Okay, you win, but I want him in American uniform today.’ He turned to Harry. ‘That’s an order, Colonel.’
Munro smiled. ‘Actually, it’s all taken care of, General. Air Vice Marshal West and I spoke to Wing Commander Kelso’s tailor in Savile Row yesterday. They agreed to do a rush job.’
Eisenhower grinned. ‘You two really go to town when you start, don’t you?’
‘Well, we want him to look right. As the General knows, he’s due at the Connaught Hotel at three to receive the Legion of Honour from General de Gaulle.’
‘My God,’ Harry groaned.
‘Tomorrow morning at eleven, Buckingham Palace for his second award of the DSO.’
Eisenhower grinned again and said to Harry, ‘That just about takes care of you, I’d say.’
Munro said to Molly, ‘If you’ve got time before going back to the hospital, go to Savile Row with him and make sure they’ve done a good job. We want him to look good for de Gaulle, he’s very particular.’
‘You can all go to hell,’ Harry said and walked out, Molly hurrying after him.
Ike called, ‘Keep an eye on him, Doctor.’
At the tailors’ in Savile Row, old Crossley and his assistant, George, laid everything out.
‘I’m afraid most of what we’ve put together for you is from stock, Wing Commander.’ Crossley laughed. ‘I do apologize. Lieutenant-Colonel.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ Harry said.
‘Anyway, two uniforms with tunic, but knowing how you’ve always liked the battledress during RAF service, I’ve provided two similar outfits as favoured by many American pilots. Oh, and we’ve had your medal ribbons made up for you, patch style with simple safety-pin fasteners.’
Harry took a look. ‘You’re a little premature. I see you’ve added the Legion of Honour and the bar to the DSO.’
‘Same difference, sir, and it saves time.’
‘Go on,’ Molly said. ‘Let’s see how you look,’ so he went off with George.
When he returned, he was wearing cream slacks and the brown battledress type of tunic which, as Crossley had said, was favoured by many officers in the US Air Force. The silver wings of a pilot were over his left breast above the medals. RAF wings were on his right breast.
Crossley said, ‘Very nice. Peaked cap or side cap, Colonel?’
‘I suppose I’d better take both.’
Harry adjusted the side cap over his straw hair and looked in the mirror morosely. ‘It isn’t me.’
‘Nonsense, you look lovely,’ Molly said. ‘Terribly dashing.’
‘Just one thing, Colonel, there should be some American campaign ribbons there which you’re entitled to now you’re with your own people. I’m checking on that. We’ll sort it out.’
Molly glanced at her watch. ‘We must get a move on. General de Gaulle awaits. Send everything to Haston Place, Mr Crossley.’
‘I will, Doctor. George, the door.’
They walked out into pale sunlight and she took his arm. ‘As the English would say, you look absolutely smashing, so buck up,’ and she flagged down a taxi.
General de Gaulle had left Suite 103 at the Connaught Hotel in 1943, but facilities were always available for high-ranking members of his staff.
‘I’ll wait,’ Molly said as they approached reception.
‘Like hell you will. The Supreme Commander told you to keep an eye on me, so you can do just that.’ Harry nodded to the desk clerk. ‘Colonel Kelso and Doctor Sobel for General de Gaulle. We’re expected.’
‘Yes, I know, Colonel.’ The clerk picked up the phone.
Harry and Molly waited. ‘I love this place,’ she said. ‘It used to be known as the Coburg – something to do with Queen Victoria’s Prince Albert, then towards the end of the Great War, King George did away with all the royal family’s German names, so the hotel changed Coburg to Connaught.’
‘You learn something new every day.’
A young French captain appeared. ‘Colonel Kelso?’ He looked uncertainly at Molly. ‘The young lady is with you?’
‘Yes, on General Eisenhower’s orders. This is Doctor Sobel.’
‘Ah, I see.’ The captain gave her his most charming smile. ‘If you would follow me.’ As they went upstairs, he added, ‘Colonel Jobert is waiting in the General’s old suite. He wishes to thank you personally.’
They reached the door marked 103, he opened it and led the way in. General de Gaulle was seated next to a coffee table by the window and there was a box in Moroccan leather on the table. Colonel Jobert, now in uniform, stood close by and he rushed forward and embraced Harry.
‘No longer wing commander, but lieutenant-colonel, I see. You are a remarkable man. I will remember your heroism all my life, for it was my life you saved.’
‘May I introduce Doctor Sobel? She’s here at the Supreme Commander’s request.’
‘As the Colonel was so recently wounded, we thought it prudent,’ Molly added.
‘The doctor’s father is Major-General Sobel on Eisenhower’s staff,’ Harry told Jobert.
‘Excellent.’ The Frenchman turned to de Gaulle, who was lighting a cigarette and seemed indifferent to the whole business. ‘With your permission, General?’
General de Gaulle nodded and Jobert opened the box, took out the insignia of Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and pinned it on Harry’s tunic. He kissed both cheeks, stepped back and saluted.
General de Gaulle spoke for the first time. ‘The Republic thanks you, Colonel, but now you will excuse us. There is much to do.’
Harry gave him a perfunctory salute, turned to Molly and nodded. The captain opened the door, they exited, made it to the top of the stairs and collapsed into laughter.
‘The Republic thanks you,’ she said in a deep voice. ‘He doesn’t like anybody, that man, he’s not even grateful. He gives Winston and Eisenhower terrible problems.’
Harry was trying to unpin the medal. ‘Damn thing is stuck.’
‘Here, let me. It’s very nice. Give me the box.’
As they went downstairs, she replaced the medal, snapped the lid of the box shut and offered it to him.
‘No, you keep it,’ he said. ‘Souvenir.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I insist. After all, I’m getting another. Eleven o’clock at the Palace in the morning. Will you come? Guests are allowed.’
‘Harry, I’d love to.’ She was obviously very moved and took his arm as they stood on the pavement. ‘But I’m going to have to leave you.’ A cab pulled up at that moment to drop somebody off and she waved to the driver. ‘I’m due on the evening shift at Guy’s and it often drags on very late.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got the Palace. Eleven o’clock. Don’t forget.’
‘How could I?’ She kissed his cheek, got in the cab and was driven away.
It was too much to expect, of course. She did three operations, worked until midnight and fell into one of the beds kept for medical staff, utterly exhausted. At eight she got up, showered, had breakfast in the canteen, was about to leave when her name was called over the Tannoy.
‘Doctor Sobel. Emergency in casualty.’
A young soldier knocked down by a bus when drunk. Left lung punctured by a broken rib.
‘Theatre Three. Get him ready and I’ll be right along.’
The soldier was trundled away and she grabbed the nearest phone and rang the flat. It was her uncle who answered. ‘Munro.’
‘It’s me and I’m on the run. Emergencies all over the place. Tell Harry I’m sorry.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’
Harry came into the sitting room at that moment, perfectly dressed for the occasion. ‘My, you do look pretty,’ Munro said. ‘But bad news from the medical front, she can’t make it.’
‘Really?’ Harry shrugged. ‘Serves me right for falling for a doctor. I might as well get going. I feel like a walk anyway.’
He found the military Burberry trenchcoat Crossley had supplied with the uniforms, put it on and went out. It wasn’t raining, although the sky was the kind that seemed to threaten rain any moment. He smoked a cigarette and wandered about rather aimlessly, aware of being alone and that made him think of Max and the dogfight over the sea off Cornwall, his voice. What was it Zec Acland had said? He sounded like you. But then he would. Max must have told his mother by now. He was certain to have done that, which made Harry think of Elsa. She’d have loved to turn up at the palace this morning, nothing was more certain.
He flagged down a cab. ‘Buckingham Palace,’ he told the driver.
He lit a cigarette and the driver said, ‘Are you getting a medal or something, guv?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? I mean you being a Yank.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Harry told him and sat back.
It was raining hard when he came back out through the Palace gates again. The policeman on duty saluted. Harry saluted back and hesitated at the people milling around and then, just as before, the staff car drew up and Munro leaned out of the window.
‘Come on, let’s be having you.’
Harry scrambled in and closed the door. ‘Why do I have a feeling of déjà vu?’
‘Tried to get here earlier. Wanted to go in with you, but I got held up at the War House. Come on, let’s see it.’
Harry took out the box and opened it. ‘Same as before.’
‘It’s never the same, Harry. What did the King say?’
‘He said, “This is getting to be a habit”, and then Queen Elizabeth said, “I see you’ve changed sides”.’
‘Well that was nice.’ Munro tapped his sergeant driver on the shoulder. ‘Find a decent pub, Jack, and the wing commander, damn, the colonel and I will celebrate. Sorry you can’t join us, but you’re driving.’
Harry took a fiver out of his wallet, reached over and slipped it in the sergeant’s breast pocket. ‘Make up for it tonight, Jack.’
‘God help me, Colonel, with that I’ll be drunk for a week.’
‘Does Eisenhower know how Max saved me? I mean, how many people know?’ Harry demanded.
‘Only my people, dear boy. I prefer to keep it that way. It isn’t even mentioned in my official report. You parachuted down and the Lively Jane saved your bacon. End of story.’
Jack pulled up outside a pub called the Grenadier near St James’s Palace. It was pleasant enough and not very busy, just before lunch. Munro, in uniform himself, went to the bar. The landlord, sleeves rolled up, exhibited many tattoos.
‘What can I get you, Brigadier?’
Munro, quite shameless, said, ‘The colonel here having just transferred to his own people from the RAF, has had his second DSO pinned on his manly chest by His Majesty only forty minutes ago. We’d like to celebrate. I know champagne would be out of the question, but …’
‘Not for you, it isn’t. I happen to have one in my fridge right now, promised to a major of the Grenadiers at Kensington Palace. He’ll have to wait. Navy man myself, sir, chief petty officer gunner in the first lot. You gentlemen sit down then.’
They took a booth near the window and Munro offered Harry a cigarette. ‘Well, here we are. You finally ended up in that Yankee uniform after all.’
‘So it would appear.’
The landlord arrived with a bucket of ice, the bottle and two glasses. ‘Moët, gentlemen, I hope it will do.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Harry said. ‘Not unless you get a third glass and join us.’
‘I don’t know about that, Colonel.’
‘We’d appreciate it if you would,’ Munro told him. ‘So be a good chap and let me do the uncorking while you find that glass.’
He thumbed off the cork expertly and had started pouring when the landlord returned. Munro charged his glass and raised his own. ‘To Colonel Harry Kelso, to you, Chief Petty Officer, and may I include myself? Brave men who put duty before all.’
The landlord was flushed with pleasure. ‘Why, thank you, Brigadier. I’ll leave you to it.’ He hesitated. ‘If you fancy a bite, my wife does a very nice meat and potato pie. They all come in for that.’
‘That sounds excellent,’ Munro said. He turned. ‘All right with you, Harry?’
‘Sure.’
The landlord disappeared behind the bar into the kitchen, four soldiers came in, saw Munro and Harry and beat a hasty retreat.
Munro refilled the champagne glasses. ‘After you left yesterday, Ike said he felt you’d really done your bit, that combat flying should be out. Courier work over the southern counties is fine, chauffeuring him in a Lysander is fine, but escapades like the other day are out.’
‘Are you saying that’s it? No more Special Duties?’
‘Let’s keep him happy. Good God, man, don’t you ever sit still? Take it easy for a while.’
The landlord came in with the pies and cutlery on a tray. ‘There you are, gentlemen.’
Munro cut into the crust and tried a mouthful. ‘Ecstasy. Takes me back to Eton as a boy.’
Harry followed suit and nodded. ‘You know, in the four and a half years I’ve been here, some of my best meals have been pub grub. So, I’m stuck on the courier run?’
‘I didn’t say that, Harry. You’re very, very good. You can fly anything, even most Luftwaffe hardware. You’re very special.’
‘So you wouldn’t rule me out?’
Munro refilled their glasses, emptying the bottle. ‘My dear boy, there’s a war on.’
The destruction of the two ME 109s by Harry in the Hurricane had been so instantaneous that the controller back at Fermanville had no idea what had happened and the secondary channel wasn’t monitored, which meant that Max’s two-way conversation with Harry and, later, Zec Acland, had gone unrecorded. On his return, his story had been simple. They had undertaken a sweep search, his two comrades had made first contact. He’d seen them go down and also the Hurricane. He made no mention of the Lysander. The story was accepted totally. After all, who would think to query the Black Baron?
Back in Berlin, he discovered that Elsa was at the country house and he drove out there. As usual, she was overjoyed to see him and fussed a great deal.
‘No, Mutti, just shut up. I’ve something to tell you.’
When he was finished, she sat there looking astounded. ‘Oh, my God, Harry, what a miracle.’
‘Yes, he came out of it in one piece and that’s all that matters, but what he said about Himmler … What do you think?’
‘How would he know?’
‘I can only guess. He was covering a plane called a Lysander that drops and picks up Allied agents in France. That means a Special Duties Squadron and that means Intelligence. It’s all I can think of.’
For the first time, she actually showed panic. ‘What do I do?’
‘You take care, Mutti, very great care. See Goering, be charming to the others and if the Führer speaks to you at any function, show how much you’re dazzled by his greatness. That’s all I can say.’
There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Max, so sorry.’
‘That’s all right, Mutti, we all get it wrong, it’s as simple as that. We helped create the beast and now it threatens to devour us.’
It was dark three days later when Bubi Hartmann flew down to Wewelsburg in a Storch, piloting himself. He put down at the Luftwaffe feeder station ten miles away, where a Mercedes and driver were waiting for him.
He didn’t even know why Himmler wanted to see him. The Reichsführer had been in retreat at Wewelsburg for almost a week. He’d had the castle developed into a centre for all true SS values, a round table with chairs for his twelve most trusted aides, all based on the legend of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, with which Himmler was obsessed. It was also a centre for racial research.
As the Mercedes approached, the towers and battlements became clear, there was no blackout, lights shone at the windows and flaring torches at the drawbridge. It looked like a set for a historical movie. Bubi loathed it.
In the entrance hall, the sergeant of the guard took his coat and relieved him of his Walther pistol. ‘The Reichsführer is in his sitting room in the south wing, Colonel. Do you need an escort?’
Bubi shook his head and went up the stairs. The place was festooned with Nazi flags, there were even swastikas on the ceilings. He walked through the shadows and came to the sitting room, hesitated, knocked and went in.
Before him there was a log fire, more flags and Himmler, in a tweed suit, behind the desk. He looked up. ‘So you finally got here?’
‘Fog and rain in Berlin, Reichsführer. How may I be of service?’
‘I’ve gone through the mail bag you sent me yesterday. Of particular interest was your most recent report from London from the Dixon woman. I refer to Brigadier Munro and his Cold Harbour base.’
‘Yes, Reichsführer.’
‘The information about the Baron von Halder’s brother shooting down two of our planes while on some convert mission for Munro, then parachuting into the sea where a convenient lifeboat saved him, is melodrama of the finest quality.’
‘I agree,’ Bubi said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘And now Kelso becomes a lieutenant-colonel in the US Air Force and is a Special Duties pilot often employed to ferry Eisenhower. Quite bizarre, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ Bubi said lamely.
‘Even more bizarre, I’ve discovered something you missed, Colonel. The third plane, the one that survived? Would you be interested to know who the pilot was?’
Bubi felt cold, very cold indeed and swallowed hard, appalled if what he feared should prove to be true. ‘Reichsführer?’
‘It was Baron von Halder, a remarkable coincidence, but then I understand life to be full of them.’
Bubi managed to control his breathing. ‘What would the Reichsführer like me to do?’
‘Why nothing, Colonel, nothing at all, except for extra surveillance on the good Baroness. Her day will come. However, there is another matter I wish to discuss. You’ll recall the Führer raised the question of a possible assassination of Eisenhower. I asked you if you had anyone in England capable of such work.’
‘And I suggested the IRA.’
‘Useless,’ Himmler said. ‘Totally useless. Would there be no chance of us putting in one of our own people? A trained specialist?’
‘I don’t think so, Reichsführer, not at this stage of the war. I have a few people in England, such as Rodrigues and Sarah Dixon, and they do good work, but they don’t constitute a network. To drop such an agent in by parachute would be very hazardous.’
‘What if he went in another way? The Portuguese as neutrals operate shipping to England, also passenger planes. Perhaps we could infiltrate a suitable agent that way. I have remarkable contacts in Lisbon. Nunes da Silva, a minister in their Foreign Office, has been in my pocket for years. He helped with the abortive attempt to kidnap the Duke of Windsor in Estoril in 1940. He’s had a great deal of money from us. Hopelessly compromised. Besides, his fondness for boys is his undoing. The photos are particularly disgusting.’
Bubi said, ‘It just wouldn’t work, Reichsführer.’
‘Really? Well, try and think of something, Colonel. I don’t want to disappoint the Führer. You can return to Berlin now. I’ll be back at the weekend.’
Bubi couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
For Harry, things took a kind of steady turn. He did general courier work and frequently flew Eisenhower on the Croydon-to-Southwick run. Just as frequently, he flew to Cold Harbour with Munro and Jack and Molly sometimes came. Things were hotting up as everything converged towards D-Day in Europe, Munro putting in more and more agents and sometimes OSS and SAS operatives.
The weather was good and when Molly was at Cold Harbour, she and Harry would walk on the beach, eat at the Hanged Man and fool with Zec Acland and the crew of the lifeboat.
‘It’s as if the war has ceased to exist,’ Molly said to Harry, as they sat on the rocks by the beach one day.
‘Oh, it’s still there,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t kid yourself.’ He gazed out to sea and thunder rumbled on the horizon. ‘There you are, guns.’
‘You devil,’ she said, pushed him off his rock and ran away. Harry picked himself up and went after her.
It couldn’t last of course and, landing at Croydon after bringing a couple of returning agents back to London, he found a message asking him to report to SOE Headquarters in Baker Street and a staff car waiting to transport him and the two agents.
When they got there, a young captain appeared, who spirited the agents away and Harry went upstairs and found Jack Carter coming to meet him.
‘He’s in the map room, Harry.’
‘A big flap on or something?’
‘Or something. I’ll let him tell you.’
Munro had on the table a large-scale map of the Channel from Cornwall across to the French coast. He was making rough measurements with a ruler.
‘What’s it all about?’ Harry asked.
‘Morlaix, twenty miles in from the French coast on a direct line from Cold Harbour. Grant plotted a course. He said forty-five minutes in the Lysander, maybe an hour. Would you agree?’
Harry had a quick look. ‘Depending on weather, I wouldn’t argue with that.’
‘I’ve a major agent to drop in over there at midnight. An in-and-out job, no one to bring back. It’s vitally important. It’s a Frenchman named Jacaud, the leader of the Resistance in that whole area. There’s a lot happening and he must be there.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Grant was doing the flight, Grant put it all together. Now the silly sod’s fallen off his motor cycle and broken his left arm.’
‘And you’d like me to do it.’
‘Harry, at such short notice it needs somebody of your calibre.’
‘No need for soft soap. When do I leave?’
‘Let’s say two hours. Jack and I will come with you. Jacaud as well.’
‘Gives me time to go to the flat, get a shower and change my clothes.’
‘I’ll have a staff car take you.’
‘See you later then,’ Harry said and went out.
He showered, found clean underwear and a shirt and had just finished dressing and was going downstairs, when Molly came in.
‘Wonderful, you’re back.’
‘And on my way out again. Did you know Grant broke his arm?’
‘No.’
‘He was due to drop a Joe over the other side tonight from Cold Harbour. Munro’s asked me to do the flight.’
‘Harry?’ She was alarmed and grabbed his arm.
‘In and out, drop-off, no pick-up. I’ll be back before you know it. Hey, trust me.’ He kissed her lightly on the mouth. ‘Got to go. I’ll see you soon.’
He picked up Tarquin in his jump bag, and his holdall and went out. She stood there staring at the door and for some reason knew fear.
In his office, Bubi Hartmann sat at his desk, drinking brandy, and Trudi leaned against the wall. ‘Crazy, Trudi, absolute madness, all this talk about putting an assassin into England via Lisbon or anywhere else.’
‘Well, don’t even hint at your true feelings,’ Trudi said. ‘Look as if you agree, tell him how we’re exploring every avenue. Just string it out until he moves on to something else.’
‘All right, I’ll be a good boy.’ He poured another brandy. ‘But really, an assassin into England. What do they expect of me?’
‘Don’t worry, they’ll forget about it after a while. I’ll make some coffee. You’ll need it with all that brandy,’ and she went into her office.
They were both wrong, of course, for just around the corner, a series of events was waiting, the consequences of which would be extraordinary for all of them.