For the past month the MoD had kept them on their toes. An assassin had been stopped, a coup uncovered, and a collection of exploding frames had been discovered before the entire of the British Museum was imploded. And while Steed loved his job there was a point at which enough was enough. Why, in this past fortnight alone he had missed three cocktail parties and two polo matches, not to mention countless nights of sleep. It would never do.

Recalling a conversation with Emma - it was a weakness of his to call her that in the privacy of his mind - from the other day he quickly made up his mind that something had to be done. He made calls to Mother, the airport, and a small villa in Épernay, France in rapid suscesion before ringing up Emma's flat. In the three rings it took for her to pick up he poured himself a brandy and took an appriciative sip.

"Mrs Peel?" he said to her greeting. "Pack a bag. I'm picking you up in an hour."

It never occurred to him that she might say no, so he didn't bother to ask.