“What’s he like?” he repeated. “It’s hard to say in a few words. He was made a colonel at thirty-five. Which means he is no fool? They say that when officers are up for promotion,” Adrian paused, “it’s probably just a load of old bollocks, but I’ll tell you anyway. Officer candidates at that level are invited to a small gathering of notables in Army circles. The candidate has to endure his peers’ scrutiny as well as their child like behaviour throughout the evening. Not only is he bombarded with an array of obscure questions, but they’re also watching to see if for instance he drinks out of the finger bowl.” I smiled and nodded. “Oliver Hawkworth was served with some sort of Californian prune crumble just to see how he negotiated the stones. But he fooled the lot of them by swallowing every one of the little blighters. I couldn’t say whether it’s all true, but it’s certainly in character. Nearly all of those men around that dinner table went onto become some sort of advisor to the Government.
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