It started at breakfast when his wife brought up the subject of a holiday again. "You must have a proper holiday, you haven't had one in over a year. Weekends at Bayberry Hall simply don't count…" Bayberry Hall, his mother's estate in Yorkshire, didn't count for much with Milicent anyway, he knew. "You want someplace warm and relaxing. Spain, perhaps, or Italy. Or Yugoslavia… they say the Dalmatian Coast is marvelous." "They'd probably say I was defecting," Wellsey said dryly, sipping his cocoa. "Don't be absurd," his wife snapped. "Now don't try and put me off, Henry. You must see about a holiday. I warn you, if you don't, I'll speak to the Prime Minister myself!" She would too, Wellsey thought glumly, sitting in the back of his Rolls 30 minutes later, and the P.M. was not in a holiday mood. It wasn't going to improve either. There was a special cabinet meeting that morning at the Prime Minister's residence and Wellsey was going to be late.
