A new menace emerged in the first week of February which threatened SOE with extinction. Since there had been only eighteen months’ advance notice of it, it took Baker Street as a whole (which occasionally it was) completely by surprise.

He pulls back too soon, catching the familiar suggestion of her perfume. He is terrified of being unable to let go, unconsciously retracing the contours of her. Every time he imagines he has moved on, a comment or a reference takes him back, life since defined by her absence. ‘How are you?’ he says, pleased that his voice sounds reasonably authorit

He’s grateful for Marlowe. Not just for the shirts and shoes. There was a long time before Marlowe where everything was gloom and horror. One war after another, charging around on horseback. Mud and murder and mad kings. Henries and Edwards and Richards, and all the others. It all felt pointless, endless, hopeless. Eternal warriors, questing about