Word of Honour

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AUBREY FITZWILLIAM WAS BUTTERING TOAST WHEN his father strode into the dining room. 'Ah, Aubrey. Good. I need you to help me elude the Special Services.'

Aubrey's knife hovered over the butter dish. He glanced at George, who was enjoying a large serve of bacon and eggs. His friend managed to shrug while folding half a rasher into his mouth.

'Your bodyguards?'

'What's the point of being Prime Minister if I can't nip off whenever I feel like it?' Sir Darius took a slice of Aubrey's toast. 'So I need your skills, quick smart.'

George snorted. 'These would be the skills of leaving Maidstone undetected, would they?'

'Exactly, George. Skills Aubrey has honed over the years, despite the best efforts of his parents.'

'He's got you there, old man,' George said.

Aubrey chose his words carefully. 'Without admitting that I have these alleged skills, why do you need to leave so abruptly?'

'Something has come up. I've found it tends to, when one is in charge of the country.' This time it was Sir Darius's turn to choose his words carefully. 'I need to visit Clear Haven, post-haste.'

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