There was a young lad ahead of her. White men never went abroad without helmets. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. ‘Parbleu, but it is not comfortable in the least in there. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door.
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