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with my publisher, Harold Guinzburg. No doubt I’ll find out what he has planned for my latest book, and what he thought of it.”
    “Any hope of an early copy for my mom?” said Samantha. “She’s such a fan.”
    “Of course,” said Harry.
    “That will be nine dollars ninety-nine cents,” said Seb, holding out his hand. Samantha placed a hot boiled egg in it. “And what about you, Mum? Any plans for painting the hull?”
    “Don’t encourage her,” said Harry, not laughing.
    “I’ll be the last off the ship and the first back on board. Although I do intend to visit my cousin Alistair and apologize for not attending Great-aunt Phyllis’s funeral.”
    “Seb was in hospital at the time,” Harry reminded her.
    “So where are we going to start?” demanded Seb as he folded his napkin.
    Sam looked out of the window to check the weather. “We’ll take a cab to Central Park and walk the loop before visiting the Met.”
    “Then we’d better get going,” said Seb as he rose from the table. “Have a good day, revered parents.”
    Emma smiled as the two of them left the dining room, hand in hand. “I wish I’d known they were sleeping together.”
    “Emma, it’s the second half of the twentieth century and, let’s face it, we are hardly in a position to—”
    “No, I wasn’t moralizing,” said Emma. “It’s just that I could have sold the extra cabin.”

 
    4
    “I T WAS GOOD OF YOU to fly back at such short notice, colonel,” said Sir Alan Redmayne, as if he’d had any choice.
    The SAS commander had been handed a telegram the moment he stepped off the Buckingham in New York. A car had whisked him to JFK, where he boarded the first flight back to London. Another car and driver were waiting for him at the bottom of the aircraft steps at Heathrow.
    “The cabinet secretary thought you would want to see this morning’s papers,” was all the driver said before setting off for Whitehall.
    IN YOUR HEART YOU KNEW HE’D LOSE was the headline in the Telegraph . The colonel turned the pages slowly, but there was no mention of the Buckingham, or any article filed under the name of Derek Hart, because if there had been, despite Lyndon Johnson’s landslide election victory over Barry Goldwater, it would surely have led the front page.
    The Buckingham did make the center pages of the Daily Express , with a glowing report from the paper’s travel correspondent, extolling the pleasures of crossing the Atlantic on the latest luxury liner. The Daily Mail had pictures of their twelve lucky readers posing in front of the Statue of Liberty. Another twelve free tickets offered for some future date ensured that there was no reference to any inconvenience caused by the Home Fleet.
    One hour later, having had no change of clothes or a chance to shave, Colonel Scott-Hopkins was sitting opposite the cabinet secretary in his office at No.10 Downing Street.
    The colonel began with a detailed debrief before answering Sir Alan’s questions.
    “Well, at least some good came out of this,” said Sir Alan, taking a leather attaché case from under his desk and placing it on top. “Thanks to the diligence of your SAS colleagues, we located an IRA warehouse in Battersea. We also recovered over twenty-three thousand pounds in cash from the boot of the taxi that took Martinez to Heathrow. I suspect that Kevin ‘four fingers’ Rafferty will soon be known as ‘three fingers’ if he can’t explain to his area commander what happened to the money.”
    “And Martinez? Where is he now?”
    “Our ambassador in Buenos Aires assures me that he’s frequenting his usual haunts. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him or his sons at Wimbledon or Ascot again.”
    “And Doherty and his compatriots?”
    “On their way back to Northern Ireland, not on a luxury liner this time, but on a Royal Navy ship. Once they dock in Belfast, they’ll be transported straight to the nearest prison.”
    “On what charge?”
    “That hasn’t been