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accepted Samantha’s offer to drive him to
the station, seven minutes away by car.
    He wished it had been
ten times as far but was compensated on arrival by her kissing him on the forehead
and saying, ‘It was nice having you as neighbour. I wish we had got to know
each other better…I am not so uptight these days!’
     Deeply touched by the
kiss and a trifle saddened by the thought of her at a time when his parents
were alive, Holt fought to regain his composure as he waved her goodbye. Again
he realized too late that he should have made more of a relationship; not that
it could ever have blossomed into anything serious, but he could have done with
a friend like that at that difficult time.
    All in all it had been
a good day, and he returned to London quite refreshed, and, judging from the
brigadier’s reactions, wheels were in motion.
    Indeed they were, for a
few days later, on returning home he heard his landline phone ringing as he was
standing at the front door, fumbling with his keys. Having got the door open, he
dumped his stuff, dashed for the phone, and managed to answer it before the
other party rang off.
    ‘ Mr Holt. Jeremy Holt?’
    ‘Yes.’
    A cut-glass female voice
proceeded to ask him for private details, as if it were his bank or credit card
company checking on his identity before imparting any information. Since the
voice was far too superior for that, he assumed it was Giraffe but wanted to
show he was streetwise.
    ‘I am not in the habit,
madam, of revealing personal details without first ascertaining the identity of
the individual soliciting them. Might I ask whom I am addressing?’
    ‘It’s Giraffe.’
    ‘Big Bird on the line. A
chirpy evening to you.’
    ‘Not funny, not funny
at all.’
    Made to feel rather silly,
Holt apologized before furnishing the required details.
    ‘You remember the
major?’
    ‘Of course…How could I not?’
     ‘He opines that you
need a decent suit and has graciously arranged for you to have one made at our
tailor’s. It will remain your property, even should you ultimately not…er, become
one of us.’
    Holt could feel the heightened
disdain in her voice following his childish joke. She had seemed to choke at
the very thought that he could become one of them.
    ‘It wasn’t that bad. The suit, I mean,’ he replied, disappointed that his best suit had failed
to ‘cut the mustard ’, as the major might say.
    ‘The major surprisingly
took a shine to you and would be most hurt should you fail to take up his more
than generous offer.’
    ‘Yes, it would be
churlish to decline. Tell him I’m most grateful and would be more than glad to
accept,’ said Holt, unconsciously parroting the woman’s way of speaking and
ending up sounding like an incongruous imitation of her, and with a male voice
to boot.
    Was this Giraffe’s way
of letting failed candidates down with no hard feelings? Was it all over even before
the second fence and just as he was beginning to believe he was embarking on something
exciting? His heart sank.
    ‘Symes, our tailor, is
located in Sackville Street. It’s a quiet side street on the right as you walk from
Piccadilly Circus along Piccadilly towards Bond Street. Just before you come to
Fortnum & Mason on the other side. I presume you have heard of them?’
    ‘I used to have high
tea there with my grandmother once a month as a child.’ It was a blatant lie,
but stuck-up tight-arse needed taking down a peg.
    The slight pause that
followed indicated he had at last scored a point and perhaps gained a modicum
of respect.
    ‘Be that as it may,’
she huffed, ‘it’s at number forty-five. Be there at six thirty tomorrow evening
prompt. You cannot miss it. Have you got that?’
    ‘Yes, number forty-five,
Sackville Street. Symes, six thirty.’
    ‘Correct. Allow plenty
of time, as measuring you and choosing the material can be time-consuming. They
may have to put you on the back burner if they have someone of importance there.
I am sure