Chapter Text
31. Third Time Lucky
March 1963
Steven Taylor flipped through the newspaper listlessly. His son was off on
holiday with some school friends and he couldn't think of anything to do to
pass the time. He threw down the paper only to have it open to the obituaries.
"Oh, great, I'm looking at how I feel: dead." A name caught his eye.
Moreland. He knew he had met a Moreland once, sometime. He picked up the paper
and read:
Moreland, Charles A. Died Tuesday 12
April of pneumonia. Mr. Moreland was owner of the Moreland Publishing House and
its subsidiaries, an estimated worth of in excess of £500,000. He is survived
by one son, Andrew, and his wife Alison, née Montclair. Memorial services will
be held Saturday, 16 April 1.00pm at the Armitage Funeral Parlor.
He knew he knew a Moreland! He had met him in 1943, a month or so before
he had been kidnapped and taken to Germany. It was when he had been seeing
Alison again. He had been quite serious about her then. He had only seen her
once again before the war ended, then nothing until now. He had to go to the
funeral.
*******************************************************
One o'clock found him sitting in the back of the chapel, listening to the
service begin. He tried to catch a glimpse of her, but she was too far in
front. Afterwards, giving condolences, he'd see her then. The service was short
and quiet. A hymn or two were sung and Andrew read one of his father's favorite
poems. Not a bad-looking kid. Definitely has his mother's eyes.
When the service was over, Steven hung back, unsure of how to approach her
after twenty years. The hell with it. He joined the line. He saw her
face and noticed how kind the years had been to her. She looked in his
direction and he quickly turned away. He wasn't ready for talking just yet; he
didn't know what to say. Finally, he was in front of her, putting forth his
right hand to shake hers and offer his condolences. She noticed his signet ring
and looked up, startled. "Steven--your Grace, thank you for coming."
"It's still Steven for you. I read about it in the paper and I had to
come. Even though the last time I saw him was a little over twenty years
ago."
"So much has changed since then." She changed her tone. "Oh,
we're holding up the line. Please stand beside me."
"I feel somewhat out of place. I mean, Charles and I were once. . ."
"Rivals? Nonsense. You were always comforting, even when you weren't
there." He looked at her questioningly. "Just knowing there was
someone like you." He smiled and agreed to stay.
When the service was over, Steven offered to drive her home. "What about
Andrew?"
"He's included in the invitation." He smiled. "I don't want you
to think of this as anything other than a gesture from an old friend."
"A very generous gesture. I accept." She called to Andrew and told
him to dismiss the driver.
"Why, Mother?"
"His Grace has offered us a ride home and I've accepted. You don't mid, do
you?"
"No."
"Good." She turned to Steven. "I'll be right back."
"I'll wait out front." He placed his hands in his trouser pockets and
walked to the door. "Care to join me?" he asked Andrew.
"I guess." Andrew was unsure of this man who had suddenly shown up in
his mother's life. Especially at his father's funeral.
Steven sat on the steps. "I know what you're thinking, my showing up like
this. Your mother and I were once very close, I almost proposed but the war
caught up with me again. I thought I had lost her for good--until this
morning."
Andrew stood on the opposite side of the steps. "She used to talk about
you."
"She did?" Steven quickly restrained his curiosity. "Anyway, I'm
here just to help an old friend in a time of need."
"Okay." Andrew forced a smile. "Your Grace," he added.
Steven laughed. "When it's just us, you can call me Steven if it'll make
you more comfortable."
Alison came back and saw the two of them smiling. "Did I miss
something?"
"No, we're just getting acquainted. Are we all set?" Alison and
Andrew nodded then followed Steven to his car.
Andrew couldn't believe what he saw. "Is this really your car?"
"You like her?"
"It's beautiful." The youth ran his fingers along the side of the
car. "Beautiful."
The car in question was a red 1939 Alvis convertible which had been a gift from
Winston Churchill in 1943. It was recognized wherever he went. In spite of
seeing action on the homefront--bullets and crashes--the car was in top
condition. "You had this the last time we were together," remarked
Alison. "I remember clubbing in it."
"Clubbing?" asked Andrew as he climbed into the back seat.
"What's that?"
"What kind of education have you given this boy?" Steven questioned
as he helped Alison into the car. "He doesn't even know what clubbing
is." He smiled as he sat behind the wheel. "Clubbing is when you go
from nightclub to nightclub, spending about an hour or so in each."
"We must have set a record for the number of clubs visited in less than a
week," remarked Alison.
"A week? You only had a week together?" Andrew couldn't believe it.
"We only went clubbing for a week. After that, a little murder pulled us
apart," said Steven.
"We had met on the way to South Africa," his mother explained.
"He got on the wrong ocean liner."
"The wrong liner? How did you manage that?"
"I had to get out of London in a hurry. A slight disagreement with the
authorities."
"Anyway, he helped your grandfather and I sell a worthless mine, providing
the money for us to move to London."
"Three years later we met by accident and she wanted nothing to do with
me. That is, until I confessed."
"Then the war interrupted."
Alison broke in to give Steven directions to their home. During the drive,
Steven pulled Andrew out of his shell. He learned that the boy was born in May
1946 and that he had plans for Cambridge. "I'll have to introduce you to
Jamie. He's only a little over a year older than you." He pulled into the
drive. "Cute little cottage you have here."
"It can't compare to an ancestral castle, but it's home."
The "cottage" in question was a manor house three stories high with
two mock-Doric columns on either side of the front steps. Alison and Andrew
both thanked Steven for the ride and Alison asked him to tea the following day.
"I'd ask you in, but I'd rather be alone right now."
"That's quite all right, I understand." His wife of one day had been
shot by someone trying to kill him. That tragedy led to his abdication.
"Oh, Steven I forgot. You really do understand." She started to cry.
He gave her a quick hug. "You just go in and get some rest. I won't say
'sleep' 'cos that might be near impossible. I'll be here at 4:00
tomorrow." He turned to Andrew. "You take good care of your
mother." Andrew nodded and Steven left.
Driving home, Steven thought back to London twenty years ago. Alison had hardly
changed at all. She was a mother now, for one thing. He, himself, was a father,
even though it was through adoption. More responsibility had accumulated in
that time. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn't been dragged to
Berlin, if he hadn't met Victoria. Victoria. Everything went back to her. He
would never be rid of the painful memory of holding her in the cold, Swiss air;
of her final words: I love you. Jamie gave him a sense of family.
*****************************************************
The following afternoon, Steven arrived for tea. The butler announced him.
"His Grace, the duke of Edinburgh."
Alison had to suppress a smile when she saw the face Steven made. "Thank
you very much, Dawson. We'll take tea in the drawing room."
After the butler left, Steven gave her an affectionate kiss. "How are you
holding up?" For an answer, she began to laugh. "Did I miss something
funny?"
"The look on your face when Dawson announced you."
"I hate all that title stuff, especially for a private tea."
"Dawson can now say he's introduced the most-wanted bachelor in
England."
"I haven't been on a most-wanted list in decades."
Over tea and sandwiches, the two reminisced about old times. In the back of his
mind, Steven knew there was some other reason for his invitation. This doubts
were proved correct when Dawson discreetly entered. "Mr. Cramer is here,
ma'am."
"Very good, Dawson. Please show him in then ask Andrew to join us."
Dawson left.
A middle-aged man entered the room.. He carried himself well and held a leather
briefcase. "Ah, Mrs. Moreland. I hope you are handling the situation
well?" He then saw Steven. "I didn't know you had company. Your
Grace." Steven nodded.
"His Grace is here as a favor to me, Mr. Cramer. We are old friends. I
knew him before I met Charles."
"No explanations are necessary. When your son arrives, I will read you the
will."
Steven whispered, "I had a feeling you had an ulterior motive, but if you
wanted me to hear the reading of the will, why didn't you just ask?"
"Inviting you to tea sounded much better than inviting you to a
will-reading."
Andrew entered the room and greeted both Steven and the solicitor before
sitting on the sofa next to his mother. Mr. Cramer cleared his throat.
"Now that you are both here, we can proceed." He looked down at the
will and read the document aloud.
I,
Charles Moreland, being of sound mind and body do hereby declare, in front of
the undersigned witness, that this is my last will and testament. To my wife
Alison, I leave my controlling shares of Moreland Publishing, of which, my son
Andrew, upon his twenty-first birthday, will receive half. To my second cousin,
Jonathan Butler, I leave my estate and £500,000. The remainder shall be divided
according to the following stipulations.
He continued to read the unimportant bits, then looked up to see Alison's
surprised face.
"That can't be Charles' will. It can't be. He can't leave us without the
house."
"You could always sell some of the stock."
"Then it wouldn't really be Moreland Publishing, would it?"
"No, I guess not." Steven walked to Mr. Cramer and spoke with him out
of Alison's hearing. "Are you sure this is the will?"
"Yes, your Grace. I witnessed it personally. It is perfectly legal."
"I'll be stopping by your offices tomorrow to talk further on this. Right
now, I think you should leave. No offense, but you just might be an upsetting
presence."
Mr. Cramer handed Steven his card. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, your
Grace." He left.
Steven went back to Alison. "Do you want to talk about it? This whole
thing doesn't sound right."
Alison wiped her eyes. "You mean you're going to help us?"
"Of course." He gave her a comforting hug. "I'm not going to let
you be cheated out of your inheritance."
"Are you sure we've been cheated?" asked Andrew.
"Have you ever seen or heard of this Jonathan Butler?" They both
shook their heads. "I thought so. I think your husband was conned into
writing a second will. All we have to do is prove it."
"How do you plan to do that?"
"That, Andrew, my boy, is simple. We just locate then 'get the goods' on
him." He smirked. "Which is easier said than done in some
cases."
****************************************************************
The next afternoon, Steven visited Cramer and his associates at the Middle
Temple. "You remember that I said I would stop by?"
"Yes, your Grace," the solicitor said, rising from his desk.
"Please, do sit down. Would you care for some refreshment? Tea,
perhaps?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Cramer. I'll be meeting my sister lasted this
afternoon for tea. I'm here on Mrs. Moreland's behalf. She wishes to protest
the will."
"As I said, your Grace, the will os perfectly legal."
"Yes, but is it legitimate?"
"Are you accusing this firm of witnessing a fraudulent will?" Cramer
was indignant.
"Mr. Moreland left the estate and a sizable amount of money to a cousin
that Mrs. Moreland had never heard him mention. I'm only questioning the
legitimacy of his claim."
"Mrs. Moreland didn't know about Mr. Butler? In all confidence, your
Grace, I must admit I was surprised when he came in asking to draw up a second
will."
"When did this happen?"
"Two months before he died."
"Do you have Mr. Butler's address?"
"It's against our policy. . ."
"This man could ruin your firm's reputation, Mr. Cramer."
"Yes, your Grace. This news could be harmful." he gave Steven a slip
of paper with a Chelsea address. "I haven't been able to reach him since
Mr. Moreland's demise, so he may be out of town."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Thirty minutes later, Steven pulled up in front of the house where the elusive
Mr. Butler lived. The house looked as if it had been recently painted. There
was also a small lawn with roses along the path. "Quite the little
homemaker." He glanced upstairs and thought he saw a shadow. "So he
is home. Must have arrived today." He looked both ways down the street
before he picked the lock on the front door. Directly inside the foyer was a
narrow stairway. Steven walked up using the lesser-worn sides of the steps
themselves. The door at the top was closed but light shone through the cracks.
He pushed it open and found himself in a small, open flat. In the kitchen area
in found a newspaper with an article circled; an article about the Moreland
funeral with his name mentioned. He then noticed there was a mug of coffee
which was still steaming. Freshly poured. That meant that he didn't imagine
someone in the window.
He walked over to the window in question and looked out. From this vantage
point he could see most of the road in both directions. Butler would have had
enough time to leave, so why did he wait until I entered the house? He
heard the click of a door latch followed by the squeak of a floorboard. He
turned to find the door to the stairs closed when he had left it open. He
had been in the flat the whole time! He ran to the door and began to use
his shoulder as a battering ram to force it open. It finally gave away and
Steven found himself staring into an inferno. Butler certainly burned his
bridges behind him. There was no other way out. Or was there? He ran back to
the window and realized he could survive the jump with no injuries, provided he
landed properly. He opened the window, gauged the distance, and jumped. Upon
landing, he tucked his shoulder and rolled across the lawn. He then walked over
to a neighbor's house and casually phoned the fire department.
Upon returning home to his St. James townhouse after tea, Steven mused over
what had happened. Butler was a fake. If he has nothing to hide, why would
he try to burn me to a crisp? He paused in his thoughts--someone was in the
kitchen. He crept to his desk and took a knife out of the top drawer. He turned
towards the kitchen door to see it slowly open. He raised the knife.
The person backed out and turned around. "Hi, Dad. You can put the knife
down, it's only me."
Steven lowered the knife and glared at his adopted son. "Jamie, don't you
ever do that again."
"Sure." He put down his tray of food. "Where were you? I thought
you'd be home."
"Her Most Royal Majesty invited me to tea."
Jamie looked at him and smiled. "Okay, who is she?"
"Your aunt."
"No. Whenever you start calling Aunt Sarah 'Her Royal Majesty', you've got
something--or someone--on your mind. Who is she?"
"What makes you think there's a woman involved?"
Jamie walked to the coffee table and handed Steven the newspaper.
"This." It was his picture with Alison at the funeral.
"So?"
"An old friend. Haven't seen her for close to twenty years. I wanted to
offer my condolences. Anyway, she discovered that her husband left the majority
of his estate to a man claiming to be a cousin. I did some investigating and
learned that he wrote the new will two months before he died."
"Is it just me, or do you smell smoke?" Jamie sniffed the air.
"You can still smell it? This suit's for the cleaners. To answer your
question, I tracked down Butler only to be burned out of his house."
"You've had a full day."
"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you and your friends were
planning to go off on holiday."
"We planned, but that's as far as we got. Kevin, Nigel, and Ian got called
home for family reasons, so I decided to come home as well. Good thing I did,
too. You could probably use the help."
Steven smiled at this. "She does have a son . . ."
"Oh, no. I'm not gonna baby-sit while you go out on a date."
"It's not a date. If it were, you and Andrew wouldn't be coming
along."
"How old is he?"
"Sixteen, possibly seventeen. I'm not sure."
"You want me to associate with a seventeen-year-old?"
"Don't make me laugh. You just turned eighteen."
"Don't remind me."
**************************************************
That evening at dinner, the four got along famously. They weren't disturbed by
public or press and were able to enjoy their meal in peace. Steven wasn't sure
how Jamie would handle Andrew, being such opposites, but Jamie actually drew
him out of his shell. Watching the other boy's face, Steven could see that he
was impressed with Jamie's ability to create conversation.
When the final course was completed, Jamie leaned over and whispered in Andrew's
ear. The latter nodded vigorously. "Um, Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Would it be okay if Andrew and I went to this club? This fab new group
from the North is playing there."
"I don't know," Steven hesitated.
"C'mon, Dad. We'll even take public transport." Jamie refused to give
up. No way was he going to miss the hottest new band in England.
"Where are they from?"
"Liverpool. You know, that band everyone's talking about."
"Okay. Take care. Keep an eye on each other. I don't want any bad
reports."
"Sure, Dad." The two boys left.
"Here we are," Steven said.
"Yes." Alison sipped her coffee. "I think Jamie seems a very
trustworthy young man."
"Don't let that fool you. He's not always like that. Sometimes he gets
forgetful and irresponsible."
"At that age, they're in-between being children and adults." Steven
rolled his eyes. "I remember a young man near that age who knew his way
about the world--except when under pressure. He's the only one I know who
mistook Capetown for New York."
"Touché." He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "No. Jamie really
is a good kid and is stubborn concerning things he feels strongly about."
He sat back and stared at the table for a short time. "Are you done?"
Alison could see he was becoming restless. "Yes, I'm done."
Steven waved the waiter over and paid for dinner. "I feel like a drive.
How about you?"
"A drive would be lovely."
Steven placed her wrap about her shoulders. "Anywhere in particular you
feel like going?"
"No. Let's just drive and see where we end up."
"Good idea." They stood outside and the valet brought his car around.
Steven tipped him generously. "Put it to good use."
"Thank you, your Grace."
Steven held the door open for her then walked around to his door. "That
was a very good dinner," he said as he pulled onto the road.
"Yes, it was. I enjoyed myself very much." She watched as Steven
relaxed behind the wheel. "This is like old times." Steven laughed.
"Let's go dancing."
"Dancing? I don't think we'll find any clubs that still play our
music."
"Who said anything about a club? We can always pull off somewhere and put
on the radio."
"I think I know the ideal place." Steven smiled and Alison knew he
had something up his sleeve. He turned his car off the road and parked along
the Victoria Embankment. "How's this?"
"Steven, it's perfect." She stepped out of the car and into the
garden. "The sky is positively gorgeous."
"Let's just find the right music." He turned on the radio.
". . .That was the latest song by that hot new group from Liverpool. .
."
"I don't think so." He changed the station and found some big band
music. "That's more like it." He walked to Alison. "May I have
this dance?"
"You may," she replied in mock seriousness.
Steven took her in his arms and danced her about the Embankment. It seemed as
if they were both young again with virtually no worries or responsibilities.
They were so enraptured with each other that they didn't notice the change in
the weather until it began to rain.
They laughed until Steven realized something important. "I left the top
down on the car!"
*******************************************************
Steven arrived home dripping wet, and was greeted by the two boys. "What
happened to you?" asked Jamie.
"Forgot to put the top up." He took his jacket off. "How was
your band?"
"Really fab. Got their autographs, too."
"I bet they were flattered."
"No, I didn't tell them who I was." He followed his father into his
room. "Andrew was kinda tired after the show so I said he could stay
here."
"You'd better call his mother."
"We left a message with the butler and he promised to let her know as soon
as she came in."
Steven changed into some dry clothes. "Could you put the kettle on? I
think I need a hot cup of tea."
"Sure."
Despite the uncalled-for shower, Steven was still in a good mood--a little
damp, but that was beside the point. On the way home from Alison's house, he
had done some scheming and decided on a plan to catch Butler "in the
act". He joined the boys in the kitchen and fixed his tea. "I think I
have a little job for you two to do tomorrow."
Jamie knew the look in his father's eyes, but Andrew didn't. "What sort of
job?"
"One that will get your inheritance back. I have a very strong reason to
believe that this Butler character is a fake." He told them of what
happened that afternoon.
"So what do you want us to do?" asked Jamie.
"Won't he be suspicious of anything involving Jamie--or myself?"
remarked Andrew.
"You forget, Andrew, that I am a master of the fine art of
subterfuge."
"What?"
"He simply means," interpreted Jamie, "that we con him
ourselves."
"Right. You are going to be brothers whose rich--but senile--grandfather
is dying, only he plans to leave his money to some sort of shelter for cats, or
something of a similar nature. Anyway, you've heard of Butler through
connections and you want him to fix the will."
"What if he won't? What if he denies everything?"
"Offer him a percentage. Haggle a bit. Should work, he's greedy enough.
Arrange for him to meet you at the home where Gramps is living out his last
days. I'll set up the room and have a recorder to catch the conversation. How's
that sound?"
"I'm not sure."
"Don't worry, Andrew. Jamie will do most of the talking. You just have to
back up what he says. Nothing'll go wrong."
"Okay."
"All we have to do is think of new names. How about Sebastian and
Nigel?"
Andrew wrinkled his nose. "Nigel's okay, but Sebastian? You might as well
call yourself Bertram!"
"You're right," said Jamie, laughing at his father's discomfort
regarding his former alias. "Is Jeremy any better?"
"Much."
"It's settled then. The two of you are Jeremy and Nigel. Tomorrow we
begin."
***********************************************************
The next morning Andrew woke to the aroma of bacon and eggs. "Delicious.
Simply delicious." He put on a borrowed robe over his borrowed pajamas and
walked over to Jamie. "Breakfast," he said.
"Hunh?" Jamie mumbled. He propped himself up, opened one eye, saw
what time it was, then rolled over with a groan.
Andrew shrugged and walked downstairs.
Steven saw him as he entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Andrew. Did you
sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you." He sat at the table.
"I hope you're hungry," Steven said as he served the boy.
"Sometimes I make too much."
"Will there be enough for Jamie?"
"You can never find enough for him," Steven said, filling his
own plate, "but he won't go without. I assume you tried to wake him. I
should have told you it was a lost cause."
"It was not a lost cause," Jamie remarked grumpily as he shuffled
into the kitchen. "Not all of us can wake up at the sound of a pin
dropping."
Steven smiled. "I apologize."
"Accepted," Jamie said after his first mouthful.
"Are you two ready for a bit of play-acting today?"
Andrew quickly swallowed. "Today?"
"The sooner the better. I'll go over your story with you so everything
will run smoothly. Don't worry. You'll be fine, 'Nigel.' So will you,
'Jeremy'."
Later that morning, close to noon, the boys were dressed for their parts. Jamie
wore a brown suit with a dark brown tie, while Andrew's was navy with a red
tie. Steven looked them over. "You look snooty enough, but something's
missing." He carefully examined them. "Got it!" He went into his
room and came back out with something red fluttering in his hand. "This
should brighten things," he said, placing the handkerchief in Andrew's
pocket. Jamie looked at his own pocket. "You have your own wardrobe.
Andrew is borrowing. However, you are both getting tie clips from my
collection. On loan, of course."
"Of course," Jamie agreed.
"Good. Now tell me what you're going to do."
"We're going to go into his place and convince him we're in need of his
services."
"How are you going to do that?"
"Tell him about our very rich--and senile--grandfather who plans to leave
his money to a home for stray cats."
"For the sake of practice, I'll be Butler and you can work on the
story."
"Okay."
They ran through the story until Steven felt it was convincing. "How are
we going to get there? He'll recognize your car and we can't take the bus, that
would ruin everything," Andrew remarked.
"I know." There was a knock on the door. "Our solution."
He opened the door. "I brought around that car you asked for, Steven,
though I don't know why."
"Thanks, John. It's very much appreciated." Steven motioned him
inside. "Your timing is impeccable."
"Aim to please. What's this all about?"
"Note the detecting mind, gentlemen. Always questioning. What's going on,
Mr. Superintendent, is that there is someone out there swindling widows out of
their inheritances."
Superintendent John Dolittle shook his head. "So it's come to this, has
it? The Eagle lowered to fishing out third-rate con-men?"
"This is not a third-rate job. Besides, what better way to catch
one?"
"How did you get involved?"
"Let's just say it's hit close to hime." Steven decided yo tell John
about Alison. "And this is her son, Andrew. He's going to help us in this
little escapade."
"I wish you luck with it. Here are the keys. I'll be back to pick it
up."
"Keys?" asked Jamie. "What kind is it?"
"Aston-Martin." John said as he headed out the door.
Jamie's eyes glowed. "An Aston-Martin."
"Just like James Bond," said Andrew.
"Except that ours is on loan from the police."
*******************************************************
Jamie pulled up in front of the address Steven had given him. "This car
drives like a dream. Too bad it's not for keeps."
"Well, we have to act like it is," Andrew reminded him.
"Right. Shall we go in, Nigel?"
"After you, Jeremy."
Jamie knocked on the door and waited. It was answered by a man of medium height
with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a face that was almost in a permanent
scowl. He also had a scar along his right cheekbone. "Can I help
you?"
"If you are Mr. Butler," said Jamie.
"And if I am?"
"We have need of your services," Andrew told him.
"Come in. We can't talk business in the street." Butler led them
inside. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you," Jamie said. "We have heard through friends that
you 'doctor' certain documents."
"And we knew you could help us."
Butler took this into account. "Why me?"
"We have never made such dealings before. Your name was referred to
us."
"What's the problem?"
"Our grandfather and cats."
Butler looked at Jamie. "What my brother Nigel means to say is that our
grandfather plans to leave all his money to a home for cats."
"Over £1 million," added Andrew.
"We are his only surviving relatives, Mr. Butler. It is only fair that we
should inherit."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Talk to the old fool and persuade him to write a new will leaving the
money to us."
"What would I get out of this?"
"A fair percentage of the total, Mr. Butler, to be decided after the will
is signed and legal. No second will, no pay."
"When do you want me to meet him?"
"Tonight at the Kennsington Nursing Home. Room 20. 7:00."
"What's the old man's name? They might ask me."
"Neville Bennett," said Jamie off the top of his head.
"Okay. 7:00 tonight, gentlemen."
"Thank you, Mr. Butler. Until tonight." Jamie and Andrew left the
house. Once inside the car, they each let out a sigh.
"Thank goodness that's over," said Andrew.
"That's only Phase One. The rest will happen tonight. Until then we've
nothing to do. How about picking up the new Beatles' album?"
"Shouldn't we tell your dad about what happened?"
"We can phone him. He won't mind."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Okay." He looked at Jamie. "That would be fab."