It was inevitable, of course, but Hay would miss the Brandy and Cigars room all the same. He stuffed some documents and his own sheaf of notes into his battered briefcase, recalling how poor Thistlethwaite, wearing his butler’s hat, had apologetically explained that Madame wanted the reception areas cleared in anticipation of the Christmas reception. Hay was relieved that it had been Thistlethwaite, and not She Who Must Be Obeyed herself, who had relayed the message. Hay had acquiesced immediately, of course. There was no way his superiors would want to turn something like this into an international incident. There wasn’t much more they could do on these premises now anyway. It was only 7:40 AM, according to the wall clock. Hay was first on the scene as usual. He had not spent a restful night, despite a quiet evening reading Molière and sipping a nice Glenlivet. Both had almost but not quite prevented him from reliving that nasty scene with Forsyth.
