For King and Country

‘How can I? I’m leaving.’

‘Next time you come. And let’s stop talking about him. Let’s just pretend we’re the only two people in the world.’

He smiled at her, and a pang of desire shot through his groin as he remembered the night before.

Lieutenant-Colonel Hamish Donegan strolled down Pinner High Street towards the Metropolitan Line station, still savouring the breakfast which his landlady had miraculously put together. There was no doubting the woman could cook, and given the paucity of ingredients available these days, that was no small gift. Donegan could have had a much more sumptuous room at the SAS’s HQ at the Moor Park Golf Club, but Mrs Bickerstaff’s spam omelette was certainly worth a ten-minute train journey twice a day.

It was a fine spring morning, with fluffy white clouds sailing happily across a blue sky. In his home town, five hundred miles to the north, it would probably still be snowing, but it was harder to think of anywhere in the British Isles less like Inverness than Pinner. There was something so indelibly English about London’s Metroland.

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