Prologue

June 2048

“Anything exciting planned for today,” my wife asked as she sat at her antique Queen Anne dressing table, brushing her long blonde hair.

The ornate mahogany desk with the enormous, hinged, triple vanity mirror had been one of my silver wedding anniversary gifts to her almost five years ago. Our thirtieth was coming up in the summer and I needed to start thinking about what to get her for that.

She deserved only the best for putting up with me all these years.

I digress.

She looked at me through the mirror and smiled. I was on the other side of the room, straightening my tie in the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door. It was the morning after Will’s funeral, and we were both preparing for the day ahead.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it exciting. Imogen and I are meeting with Marie to go over the first draft of last year’s accounts. For both BCT and Wintersmith. It’s been a good year, so I’ll need to sit down with the others later and discuss bonuses too. Other than that, it’s the same old, same old.”

“You’re not starting work on Will’s Estate?”

I shook my head. “I’m not doing it. It wouldn’t feel right. I’ll get one of the other members of the team to handle it—I just haven’t decided who yet.”

“Do they know that?”

“They have a fair idea.”

She put her brush down and then pulled her hair back with one hand so she could wrap a hair band around it with the other to make a ponytail.

“What about you?” I asked, turning around. “Any plans?”

“I’ve got a scholarship trust meeting. We’re looking at the candidates for this September’s awards. We need to decide who gets the awards soon. We’re reviewing the performance of the current recipients too.”

“Good. You enjoy running the trust, don’t you?”

She shrugged—a habit she’d no doubt picked up from me after over thirty years together. “Who wouldn’t? It’s important. I’m glad Chrissy asked me to do it when she retired. Of course, It would be better if we didn’t have to award this money to these kids, but we are where we are.”

“You did your best to try and change things. But there’s only so much you can do from the back benches.”

“I know. I’ve achieved far more as a campaigner since standing down than I ever did in Parliament.”

I walked around the bed to stand behind her. I put my hands on her shoulders and then bent down to kiss her cheek. “Hey, don’t do yourself down. You did a lot of good as an MP. You fought the good fight—that’s all you can ever do in opposition. And don’t forget you helped to get this Government elected, even if you did stand down. They are doing good things now, aren’t they? You can take some credit for that.”