We were late visiting Jamie that year. The ceremony had scarcely been completed when an innocuous-looking brown man—his hair was brown, his eyes were brown, his suit and coat and hat were brown—took us by private car, also brown, to a place whose location was very hush-hush. With a little help from me, although mostly on his own, Jeremy was able to overcome all the physical obstacles of the program we were required to complete before joining the SIS.
I never did speak of love to him, because, well, perhaps because it wasn’t done in my family, or perhaps because, with the ego-centricity of youth, I imagined we’d live forever, and so had all the time in the world.
Not everyone did, however. The following February, His Majesty passed away in his sleep, and the country went into mourning.
Life for us went on, however.
* * * *
As well as University and the program, we finished with the flat in which we’d lived together for more than four years. It was time to move down to London.