Brendan Bracken glanced around the
elegant drawing room, through the French windows to the wide terrace and
the beautifully maintained gardens beyond. “I do enjoy Luton Hoo, an oasis of
elegance and calm in today’s troubled times. The Old Man and I, and dear
Clemmie of course, came here several times to dine with the Wernhers before the
Army managed to get their hands on the house for Eastern Command.
Bracken pointed to
the terrace. “We all discussed Munich out there. Neville the Undertaker’s
finest hour, you might say. What a misguided man, never in touch with the
British people.”
He blew a series of smoke rings. “Your men were right,
Sorbay, to let the Haganah take the Jerry general. Saved everybody a lot of trouble. The only difficulty is
they have not gone to Ireland with him. “They are threatening to deliver Herr General to the Soviets and expose our double-dealing. Not that we owe anything to the Russians but the propaganda onslaught would not be helpful. The Commons would not be impressed and it would give the Isolationists across the Atlantic a field day. The lunatics want us to open the Palestinian borders to Jewish refugees from Europe. That’s not going to happen, we need the Arab oil for the war effort. All we can do in the Middle East as ever is a balancing act."
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