“When did you arrive in England?”

“Yesterday. They told me you were still alive, but I wanted to see for myself.”

“I promise not to die without telling you first,” Stone said.

“You’re still looking a bit peaked,” Lance said, “so I’ll leave you to a nap or two. As soon as you’re out we’ll have a good lunch somewhere and chat about some things.”

“Thanks, Lance, I’ll see you then.” Stone closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

63

Stone awoke the following day feeling much more himself, which condition, he felt, was mostly due to the ministrations of Rose and Felicity late in the previous evening.

A nurse came in with a breakfast tray of scrambled eggs, toast, and sage sausages, which he wolfed down. She came back for the tray.

“Looks like you’re getting the boot this morning,” she said. “One of the ladies brought you some clothes, and I’ve hung them in your closet. The doctor will be in shortly to approve your discharge, and someone from administration will have your release documents to sign, then you’re out of here.”

“I’ll miss you,” Stone said.

“I doubt that,” she said, “given the attentions you got from others overnight.”

“You’re a Peeping Tom,” he said.

“No, there just happens to be a camera over there,” she said, pointing to a high corner of the room. “Dame Felicity had someone in this morning to erase the tape.”

“Oh, I would have liked to see it,” Stone said sadly.

“Why? You weren’t doing anything but lying there.” She left the room.

There was a knock on the door, and a man carrying a clipboard entered and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a necktie and shirtsleeves and wore a pocket protector that sported an array of writing instruments. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Assistant Administrator Willis. I have some forms for you to sign, so that we can discharge you.” He had an owlish look because of his heavy black spectacles, and he also sported a Vandyke—mustache and goatee—as if to make up for his receding hairline. “I hope you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m feeling very well, thank you,” Stone said. “Where do I sign?”

Willis walked over and set his clipboard on Stone’s rolling hospital tray. “There are four,” he said, extracting a fat Mont Blanc fountain pen from his shirt pocket and handing it to Stone.

“This is the first actual fountain pen I’ve seen for years,” Stone said. “Very handsome.”

“I’m a bit old-fashioned,” Willis said. “I like the old ways.”