The blackout shades were up, and the house was ablaze with light. There were two other couples with them. David was wearing his uniform. Helen hung on his arm. Vicary wondered how long he had been standing there, watching them, watching her. Much to his surprise--or was it relief, perhaps--he felt nothing for her. Her ghost had finally left him, this time for good.
He walked away. The King's Road turned to Sloane Square, and Sloane Square to quiet side streets of Chelsea. He looked at his watch; there was still time to make the train. He found a taxi, asked the driver to take him to Paddington Station, and climbed inside. He pulled down the window and felt the warm wind in his face. For the first time in many months, he felt something like contentment, something like peace.
He telephoned Alice Simpson from a phone box at the station, and she agreed to come to the country the next morning. He rang off and had to rush for his train. The carriage was crowded, but he found a seat next to the window in a compartment with two old women and a boyish-faced soldier clutching a cane.
He looked at the soldier and noticed he was wearing the insignia of the 2nd East York Regiment. Vicary knew the boy had been at Normandy--Sword Beach, to be precise--and he was lucky to be alive. The East Yorks had suffered heavy casualties during the first minutes of the invasion.
The soldier noticed Vicary looking at him, and he managed a brief smile.
"Happened at Normandy. Barely made it out of the landing craft." He held up the cane. "Doctors say I'll need to use this for the rest of my life. How'd you get yours--the limp, that is?"
"The First War, France," Vicary said distantly.
"They bring you back for this lot?"
Vicary nodded. "A desk job in a very dull department of the War Office. Nothing important, really."
After a while the soldier slept. Once, in the passing fields, Vicary saw her face, smiling at him, just for an instant. Then he saw Boothby's. Then, as the darkness gathered, his own reflection, riding silently next to him in the glass.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The events portrayed in this novel are the product of the author's imagination, as are the characters who populate it, and it is not intended as a representation of actual events. However, many people gave generously of their time and knowledge to help a young man write about things that happened a long time ago. Obviously, the expertise is theirs. Any mistakes and dramatic license are mine.
I am forever indebted to the team at Weidenfeld & Nicolson in London: Anthony Cheetham, Cassia Joll, and Maureen Kristunas, who missed her tube stop. But most of all, a very special thanks to Ion Trewin, who lent me his eyes and ears and patiently answered each of my questions, no matter how mundane. Truly, this novel could not have been written without his help, encouragement, and weekend research outings with his wife, Sue, along the Norfolk coast.
To all my friends and colleagues at CNN, especially Tom Johnson, Ed Turner, Frank Sesno, Richard Davis, and Bill Headline, who gave me the time and freedom to write this novel, then allowed me to come home when it was done.
To the team at International Creative Management: Heather Schroder, Sloan Harris, and Jack Horner. But most of all to my agent, friend, and guide, Esther Newberg, who made a dream come true. There is none better.
To all those who gave me assistance or advice along the way: Dr. Uwe Heldt and Professor Klaus Fischer for their expertise on the history of Nazi Germany; Dr. Michael Baden for his counsel on the intricacies of stab wounds and decomposition; to Brian Montgomery for his patient lecture on the anatomy of a diesel engine; and to Lisa Havlovitz for her assistance in preparing the final manuscript. Also, special thanks to Adria Hillman, Kenneth Warner, and Jeffrey Blount for their invaluable support, and to Professor Bernard Jacob, my friend, my teacher, my eternal shoulder to lean on.
And finally to the remarkable team of professionals at Random House: Harry Evans, Linda Grey, Leona Nevler, Sybil Pincus, Jennifer Webb, Dan Rembert, Lilly Langotsky, Adam Rothberg, Brian McLendon, Kirsten Raymond, Mark Speer, Dianne Russell, Sairey Luterman, Annik La Farge, Melissa Milsten, Leta Evanthes, Camille MacDuffie, and Lynn Goldberg.
And of course David Rosenthal, my publisher and brilliant editor, who showed me the way, gently set me back on course when I strayed, and helped me turn a manuscript into a novel. A true friend from beginning to end.
Please read on for an excerpt from
Daniel Silva's exciting new novel
THE SECRET SERVANT
Available from Signet
AMSTERDAM