D-Notice by Bill Walker (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

did not want to relive those hellish moments yet again. Yet, he knew this meeting would be the last of it; that afterwards, he would be free to return to his old life.

That was the odd thing. He’d begun to think of his life prior to this mission as his “old life.” And what that meant exactly, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it meant nothing more than one more bit of growing up he’d needed to do. Then again, it might mean that going back to business as usual would be impossible. And that was what underlay his feelings of unease.

The whole of his existence had become...uncertain.

Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Thorley opened the bottle of ale and took a long cool draught.

Alcohol was very likely the worst thing for him after what he’d gone through, but it felt good, and the light feeling of euphoria made him less nervous and more fatalistic about the immediate future. He pulled a leg off the chicken and gnawed on it slowly, savoring the mild flavors of sage and thyme. He didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he woke up outside 54 Broadway.

He sat up too fast, feeling the blood rushing out of his skull. “How long have we been here?” he asked the driver.

The man turned, eyeing him with profound disinterest. “Only just got here, Gov.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

They would be up there now, waiting for him.

Stepping out of the Humber, he waited for the driver to pull away. He wondered if he should call Lillian first. He wanted to call her, needed to call her, yet duty dictated otherwise. His instructions were to return to Broadway immediately for debriefing. And he knew it would last most of the night. They would ask him to tell and retell every detail of the mission he could recall, over and over again, until they had every bloody moment of it noted down on reams of transcript.

One more night, and this will all be over.

He identified himself to the young lieutenant and was once again escorted up the stairs to the fourth floor. He found the door to the Director’s office open, the flickering light from the hearth warm and inviting.

Sir Basil was the first to see him. “Ah, Thorley, prompt as always. Do come in.”

Thorley managed a wan smile and stepped into the room. When he scanned the faces of the three men seated in front of him, he noted their outward calm. But their hard, glittering eyes betrayed their true intent. He knew then that the pleasantries were about to end.

Chapter Seventeen

Unable to sleep, Lillian lay in bed studying the track of the moon across the bedclothes. And she wanted to sleep—oh, so badly. Not because she was tired, which she was, but because she wanted to blot out the all-consuming terror sweeping through her, if for only a brief respite. But that was not to be. She replayed the scene with Sir Basil over and over until she could pick out the minutest details.

My God, she thought, was it only two nights ago?

She’d just returned from the tryst with Paul when the knock on the door came. Paul had been in a foul mood when she revealed her news about the baby. He’d screamed at her, rebuking her for her carelessness, his words like slaps.

Shaking with anger, she’d started to leave, and he’d grabbed her, enveloping her body with his muscular arms, his hot kisses numbing her. Anger gave way to passion and then...to guilt.

Oh, God, where would it end?

Why didn’t she have the courage to tell Paul the truth? Instead, she’d lied to him, let him make love to her, then fled. She’d even refused a ride from Paul’s bewildered chauffeur, preferring to take the Tube directly to Stockwell Station. Ordinarily, she couldn’t abide the crowds and the smell of sweat and bad breath in the narrow, tightly packed trains. But while sitting amongst her fellow Londoners, she’d found a measure of solidity and calm. Etched into the tired lines of their faces, were problems other than her own, problems no doubt far worse than an errant husband and petulant lover. And it humbled her.

Enduring the short walk from the station, she arrived home just after nine, removed her coat and froze when she heard the sharp, insistent rapping at the door. Could Paul have followed her home, already contrite and wanting her? He wouldn’t dare, she thought. It would be far too risky for him to be seen in this neighborhood, though she had to admit the thought of it titillated her, but he would send his chauffeur, never himself.

With mounting unease, she tore off her scarf and coat, threw them onto one of the overstuffed chairs and went to the window, where she pulled aside one of the blackout shades and peered outside. What she saw looked like nothing more than a tall black shape outlined against the gray of the outside wall. She saw the flare of dull red light as the man sucked on his pipe, revealing his handlebar mustache and white hair.

Sir Basil.

For a brief moment she was paralyzed by panic. Had he followed her from Paul’s hotel? Did he know about them, and if so, was he here to admonish her not to risk her husband’s career by her selfish transgressions? Hot anger shot through her, and then melted away as fast as it had come.

He wasn’t here because of her.

Something was wrong with Michael.

Stifling a cry of alarm, she went to the door, shot the bolt and flung it open. His eyes held a warm twinkle.

“Hello, my dear. You’re looking lovely. May I come in?”

She’d stepped aside and let him enter.