LONDON – 1955 – Tripp Club – It was a terse message, even for an international cablegram:
"I have my proof STOP She lives STOP Say nothing Not even Eva STOP Letter to follow STOP R FULL STOP"
Mitch Bonchurch must have read it over and over at least once every ten minutes since Rhu Salaam had brought it to him on a silver tray three hours gone.
He had been set to return back to the island and to Eva this afternoon, finished as he was with his London business and meetings. But now he could not bring himself to move. Yet he hardly felt shackled by staying at the club. He felt lighter, less weighed-down by gravity than he had in as long as he could recall.
He would wait for the letter. No, he would travel on home. The letter would be some time in coming. It could be forwarded to Barnsdale.
It could be weeks in coming.
Weeks.
But weeks of lightness, of being unable to keep from chanting under his breath "habeaus corpus" like a dotty solicitor. "You must have the body, you must have the body," said every chug of the engine as he rode the train toward the port and the afternoon mail boat on to Guernsey.
A/N: I am posting this "teaser" to say that I have not given up 'Don't' by any stretch, but presently real life is very intense and needs much attention. The bits to come in the story require quite a bit of concentration and work to harmonize with the whole of however many tens of thousands pages we are at at present. I am six pages of writing into the next chapter (which usually end up being 20 or more) and have copious notes to transcribe.
It will be worth the wait, I promise. When I can post the completed chapter, this bit will be its beginning, but I'll be removing this note.
Thank you for your patience.