Routine. Sir Geoffrey Baines, as chairman of Britain’s foreign service, could have warranted a car and driver and a weekly apartment in London. But Baines would have none of that. He preferred to travel as he always had by train to London and then by taxi from Charing Cross Station to his office on Whitehall, across from the Houses of Parliament. He would only indulge his superiors and take a limousine on those rare occasions when he addressed parliament, even though it would have been only a short walk. Appearances. He spent the hour each way by train from his home in the morning, and again at night, reading a good book. He would have gone over papers, had he not been required to leave them in a safe each night. And sometimes he even stretched his own rules, bringing less sensitive information home with him. Tonight was one of those rare times. He had been in meetings all afternoon, and only had time to scoop up the papers from his desk before hurrying to catch his train.
