George bent to stroke his Labrador, Nelson, who gave an appreciative whimper. When he straightened, he said, “Tell me more about this council you’re involved with. It sounds a lot like our Forces Book Club.”

“Maybe,” Theo replied. “We’ve got thirty titles planned for the first series. One and a half million in total, but as well as books for troops we want to promote books that help people think; ones that will inform and inspire them. The public are hungry for information—they know their news is censored, and they want to know what’s going on.”

George raised his eyebrows. “That sounds very ambitious.”

“Wasn’t it Chesterton who said, ‘The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him’?”

George gave a thin smile. “Indeed. And so now you’re here to advise us and share your ideals. Aren’t we the lucky ones?” He sounded sincere enough, but Theo still detected more than a note of cynicism.

“I feel lucky too, George. I believe there’s a lot we can achieve together, and a lot that we can learn from each other.”

George nodded, his smile warming. “Let’s leave it there for now. We can reconvene after lunch, talk to Tommy and bring the editors in too.” George placed a hand on Theo’s forearm. “I’m sorry you’ll be missing Virginia, but the good news is that the pheasant season has run late this year. We’ll head up to Norfolk soon for the weekend.”

“That’s very kind of you, George, but I think I’ll stay in the city, catch up on things—”

“Nonsense. I won’t have you staying in London on your own. Walter would never forgive me. Besides, Clare would love to meet you. And so would my girls.”

Theo smiled. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but—”

“Splendid. We’ll leave around three, miss the traffic heading out of town.”

Theo smiled his acceptance, realizing that he couldn’t refuse.

“The bad news is there are decidedly fewer people on the estate now,” George told him, “but the good news is there are more pheasant for us.”

“So, is this going to be our last print run?” Emily asked, eyes darting between George and Theo.

It was after lunch, and Theo was revived, the nausea subsiding for the time being. They were seated at the boardroom table with Ursula and Tommy, a pot of tea steaming in front of them and Nelson snoring at George’s feet as the wind lashed the trees outside.

“No,” George replied, “Theo is merely saying that we need to find somewhere more competitive to print our books.”