The Torch Betrayal_A Conor Thorn Novel by Glenn Dyer

Author:Glenn Dyer [Dyer, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: TMR Press, LLC
Published: 2018-01-08T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

2000 Hours, Sunday, October 11, 1942

Oddendino’s Imperial Restaurant, Regent Street, London

Clementine Churchill was chilled. Her request for more heat, made an hour earlier, had resulted in making the private room on the second floor of Oddendino’s a sweatbox for everyone else, but no one complained. Maggie Thorn wondered if anyone else had beads of sweat running down their necks.

The multicourse dinner was accompanied by several heartfelt speeches from the cabinet member’s wives. Some speeches extoled the bravery of the Allied forces, but most praised the dogged determination of the British people. When it was Clementine Churchill’s turn to buck up the gathering, she stood. Five minutes into her disjointed speech, the maître d’ slid silently into the room, handed an envelope to Maggie, and bent down close to her ear.

“Miss, please excuse the interruption. But the officer was quite insistent that you receive this right away. He says that it is urgent.” The man’s breath was warm and carried the overpowering smell of cigarettes. As he left, Maggie concealed the envelope beneath the table, on her lap, and opened the flap. She read it once and then again, her breathing quickening.

Miss Thorn:

Apologies for interrupting your evening. Please meet me outside the restaurant as soon as possible. I have urgent news concerning your brother Conor Thorn. I am waiting in a parked car near the restaurant. My adjutant, who will be waiting downstairs, will show you the way.

The typed note was signed illegibly. Maggie fumbled with the paper, trying to get it back into the envelope. She placed her napkin on her plate and quietly exited the room. She found the maître d’ waiting in the hallway to escort her downstairs.

When she arrived at the maître d’s station at the front of the restaurant, she noticed a man in a RAF uniform leaning against a dark-paneled wall. One side of his face was swollen; the other side featured a black eye. It momentarily baffled her that a member of the RAF had been sent to get her, but her concern for Conor overrode the oddity.

She approached the officer, who, upon seeing her, straightened and leered. “Are you the messenger who dropped this note off?” Maggie asked, waving the envelope at him.

“That’s right. I’m the messenger. Warrant Officer Montgomery,” he said, not shy about giving Maggie a thorough once-over. “Are you ready?”

“First, tell me who sent this note. I can’t make out the name.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not for me to tell. He’ll tell you himself.” Montgomery put his officer’s hat on and tugged on the bottom of his tunic. “Are you ready now?”

Maggie’s unease mounted. She looked at the maître d’. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The maître d’ nodded, and she turned to exit.

Montgomery grabbed her upper arm. It was not a gentle gesture.

“Hey, bub. I can walk on my own two feet,” Maggie said, twisting her arm from his grasp. “And here I thought the English were all gentlemen.”

“Apologies, ma’am,” Montgomery said, half-heartedly offering a shallow bow. “This way.

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