1, England At mid-morning, Brian received a surprising phone call. Sgt. Parkhurst entered his office as he was lowering a half-eaten, cream-filled Danish to the plate. Quickly Brian wiped his lips and sipped from a satisfying cup of coffee he had brewed himself. “There is a Lady Allison Wyndamire on the blower for you, sir.” Brian had never heard of a Lady Allison Wyndamire before. Frowning, he reached for the handset of his telephone. “I’ll take the call.” Static crackled in Brian’s ear as Sally Parkhurst connected the line. “Is this Sir Brian Moore?” an all too familiar voice inquired before he could speak. Brian brightened instantly. “Dianna! What’s the occasion?” “Meet me for lunch and I’ll tell you.” “Where?” “The Admiralty Inn. Eleven-thirtyish?” Grinning broadly, Brian promised, “I’ll be there.” “There’s a small, stand-up bar on the top floor. You’ll find me there.” “I think I can locate it.” Brian hung up and stared out the window.
