“Got it in one. As well as being beautiful, Karin’s the most delightful, kind, thoughtful and considerate creature I’ve ever met.”
“Isn’t it a little early to be making such an unequivocal judgment?” suggested Harry.
“No. This time, I’ve really struck gold.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. And how do you feel about the press describing you as a cross between Richard Hannay and Douglas Bader?”
“I see myself more as Heathcliff,” said Giles, laughing.
“So when are we going to be allowed to meet this paragon?”
“We’ll be driving down to Bristol on Friday evening, so if you and Emma are free for lunch on Saturday—”
“Sebastian’s coming down on Saturday, and Emma’s hoping to talk to him about taking over as chairman. But you’re welcome to join us.”
“No, I think I’ll skip that, but why don’t you all come over to the Hall for lunch on Sunday?”
“Isn’t that putting a little too much pressure on Karin?” said Harry.
“When you’ve been living under a Communist regime for most of your life, I don’t think you’d consider having lunch with the Cliftons as pressure.”
“If you’re sure, then we’ll see you both on Sunday.”
“I’m sure,” said Giles, as the front door bell rang. “Got to dash, Harry.” He put the phone down and checked his watch. Could it possibly be ten o’clock already? He almost ran into the hall to find Markham opening the front door.
“Good morning, Mr. Pengelly, Sir Giles is expecting you.”
“Good morning,” said Pengelly, giving the butler a slight bow.
“Come on in,” said Giles, as they shook hands. “Markham, can you rustle up some fresh coffee while I take Mr. Pengelly through to the drawing room.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Karin should be down in a moment. It’s a long story, but she’s trying to decide which of my sister’s clothes to wear.”
Pengelly laughed. “Women have enough trouble deciding which of their own clothes to wear.”
“Did you have any difficulty finding us?”
“No, I left it all to the taxi driver. A rare experience for me, but this is a special occasion.”
“It certainly is,” said Giles. “The chance to be reunited with your daughter when you thought you might never see her again.”
“I’ll be eternally grateful to you, Sir Giles. And if the Telegraph is to be believed, it was a close-run thing.”
“Brookes exaggerated the whole incident,” said Giles, as the two of them sat down, “but one can hardly blame the man after what they put him through.”
Markham returned carrying a tray of coffee and shortbread biscuits, which he placed between them on the drawing room table.
“Comrade Honecker won’t be best pleased that you upstaged him,” said Pengelly, looking down at the Telegraph headline. “Not that there was anything in the speech that we haven’t all heard before.”
“Several times,” said Giles, as the door opened and Karin burst in. She ran toward her father, who leapt up and took her in his arms. Funny, thought Giles, I never noticed that simple white dress when my sister wore it.
Father and daughter clung onto each other, but it was Mr. Pengelly who burst into tears.
“Sorry to make such a fool of myself,” he said, “but I’ve been looking forward to this moment for so long.”
“Me too,” said Karin.
Giles looked at his watch. “I apologize, but I’ll have to leave you both, as I have a meeting in the Commons at eleven. But I know you have a great deal to catch up on.”
“When will you be back?” asked Karin.
“Around twelve, possibly earlier, then I’ll take you both out to lunch.”
“And after lunch?”
“We’re going shopping. I haven’t forgotten.” Giles kissed her gently on the lips, while Pengelly looked away. “See you both around twelve,” he said as he walked out into the hall where the butler was holding his overcoat. “I’m expecting to be back in about an hour, Markham. Don’t disturb them, as I suspect they’ll appreciate having some time to themselves.”
*
Karin and her father remained silent as they waited for the front door to close, and even then they didn’t speak until they heard Markham close the kitchen door.
“Did everything go to plan?”
“Almost everything,” said Karin. “Until we reached the border, when an overzealous young officer started asking far too many questions.”
“But I personally briefed the border guards,” said Pengelly. “I even told Lieutenant Engel that he was to give you a hard time before ticking off your name, so Barrington would be even more convinced you’d been lucky to escape.”
“Well, it didn’t work out quite as you planned, comrade, because a Fleet Street journalist decided to poke his nose in, and even started taking photographs.”
“Keith Brookes. Yes, I gave orders for him to be released soon after you crossed the border. I wanted to be sure he didn’t miss his deadline,” Pengelly added as he looked down at the Telegraph headline: