After a quarter of an hour, he gently lowered the barrel. The Germans had passed him. He listened to the volume of shouting and firing diminish—they would be beyond the ditch. Now Manoli’s troubles would really be starting. Lockhart slumped forward, his chin falling onto his chest.

As he drifted off, the name came to him. Nausithos. That was it—the name of Theseus’s pilot. That he had remembered here and now seemed to Lockhart almost funny.

JUNE 1937

He has never seen such a big house. It must be the size of the whole street in Tooting, and just one family lives here. He too will have a house like this, when they take over. He’ll come down from London, where he will be a minister in the new fascist government, and ride a horse, a great big black horse, and Eileen will have the finest clothes. It will make up for the years of poverty and struggle. This is what he deserves, he reckons, nothing less will do for him, a true leader of men.

The taxi draws up to the steps and a footman comes down to open the door. He grabs his small suitcase, steps out tentatively and offers to shake the footman’s hand. The footman stares back at him, leaving his hand by his side.

“Do you have any more luggage, sir?”

“Just this,” he says, holding up his suitcase.

“May I take it, sir?”

“Don’t worry, I can manage.”

The footman raises an eyebrow. “Would you follow me, please.”

Together they walk up the steps to the front door. It is a beautiful day, and he looks across to the parkland surrounding the house. This is the real England, a land of oaks and deer, not a place for skulking Jews and Bolshies in their slums. This is the place where greatness breeds and where dynasties are founded. What a glorious new England it will be!

The butler greets him in the hall.

“Sir George and Lady Pendle are in the conservatory at present, and they have asked me to show you to your room first. Sir Oswald is already here, as are several of your other colleagues.”

The staircase is lined with portraits, showing that the features of the Pendles have barely changed in three hundred years. Light shines in from a glass cupola above. It reminds him of the very grandest buildings in London. Blimey. This place is a palace, not a house. Is this really how a lot of them live, in places like this? No wonder they feel born to rule.