Nora Birch hurried, pushing her head down against the driving rain, clutching the net shopping bag closer to her body in case the contents – her tea of sausages and eggs for this evening – should spill out onto the cold and wet street. The streets were poorly lit in this part of the city and she increased her pace, keen to be home safely. She"d already missed the bus to her lonely flat in Ealing, and decided to walk to the next bus stop along. Better that than standing in the freezing cold of a dark night; at least by moving, she was keeping warm and getting nearer to home.
Every day she got up and went to the new office block that was the Secret Intelligence Service"s headquarters. She would lock herself away with her equally bland colleagues in the Research/Secret Intelligence Section.
