‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. That would be an unkind twist of fate. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. You may fall into the hands of your enemy. ‘I borrow the expression from Melusine. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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