And Thereby Hangs a Tale

10. The Undiplomatic Diplomat*

Percival Arthur Clarence Forsdyke — his mother called him Percival, while the few friends he had called him Percy — was born into a family which had played its part in ensuring that the sun never set on the British Empire.

Percy’s grandfather, Lord Clarence Forsdyke, had been Governor General of the Sudan, while his father, Sir Arthur Forsdyke KCMG, had been our man in Mesopotamia. So, naturally, great things were expected of young Percy.

Within hours of entering this world, he had been put down for the Dragon prep school, Winchester College and Trinity, Cambridge, establishments at which four generations of Forsdykes had been educated.

After Cambridge, it was assumed that Percy would follow his illustrious forebears into the Foreign Office, where he would be expected at least to equal and possibly even to surpass their achievements. All might have gone to plan had it not been for one small problem: Percy was far too clever for his own good. He won a scholarship to the Dragon at the age of eight, an election to Winchester College before his eleventh birthday, and the Anderson Classics Prize to Trinity while he was still in short trousers. After leaving Cambridge with a double first in Classics, he sat the Civil Service exam, and frankly no one was surprised when he came top in his year.

Percy was welcomed into the Foreign and Commonwealth Office with open arms, but that was when his problems began. Or, to be more accurate, when the Foreign Office’s problems began.

The mandarins at the FCO, who are expected to identify high flyers worthy of being fast-tracked, came to the reluctant conclusion that, despite Forsdyke’s academic achievements, the young man lacked common sense, possessed few social skills and cared little for the diplomatic niceties required when representing your country abroad — something of a disadvantage if you wish to pursue a career in the Foreign Office.

During his first posting, to Nigeria, Percy told the Minister of Finance that he had no grasp of economics. The problem was that the minister didn’t have any grasp of economics, so Percy had to be dispatched back to England on the first available boat.

After a couple of years in administration, Percy was given a second chance, and sent to Paris as an assistant secretary. He might have survived this posting had he not told the French President’s wife at a government reception that the world was overpopulated, and she wasn’t helping matters by producing so many children. Percy had a point, as the lady in question had seven offspring and was pregnant at the time, but he was still to be found packing his bags before lunch the following day. A further spell in admin followed before he was given his third, and final, chance.

On this occasion he was dispatched to one of Her Majesty’s smaller colonies in Central Africa as a deputy consul. Within six months he had managed to cause an altercation between two tribes who had lived in harmony for over a century. The following morning Percy was escorted on to a British Airways plane clutching a one-way ticket to London, and was never offered a foreign posting again.

On returning to London, Percy was appointed as an archives clerk (no one gets the sack at the FCO), and allocated a small office in the basement.

As few people at the FCO ever found any reason to visit the basement, Percy flourished. Within weeks he had instigated a new procedure for cataloguing statements, speeches, memoranda and treaties, and within months he could locate any document, however obscure, required by even the most demanding minister. By the end of the year he could offer an opinion on any FCO demand, based on historic precedent, often without having to refer to a file.

No one was surprised when Percy was appointed Senior Archivist after his boss unexpectedly took early retirement. However, Percy still yearned to follow in his father’s footsteps and become our man in some foreign field, to be addressed by all and sundry as ‘Your Excellency’. Sadly, it was not to be, because Percy was not allowed out of the basement for the next thirty years, and only then when he retired at the age of sixty.

At Percy’s leaving party, held in the India Room of the FCO, the Foreign Secretary described him in his tribute speech as a man with an unrivalled encyclopaedic memory who could probably recite every agreement and treaty Britain had ever entered into. This was followed by laughter and loud applause. No one heard Percy mutter under his breath, ‘Not every one, Minister.’

Six months after his retirement, the name of Percival Arthur Clarence Forsdyke appeared on the New Year’s Honours List. Percy had been awarded the CBE for services to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.

He read the citation without any satisfaction. In fact, he felt he was a failure and had let the family down. After all, his grandfather had been a peer of the realm, his father a Knight Commander of St Michael and St George, whereas he ended up a mere Commander of a lower order.

However, Percy had a plan to rectify the situation, and to rectify it quickly.

Once he had left the FCO, Percy did not head straight for the British Library to begin work on his memoirs, as he felt he had achieved nothing worthy of historic record, nor did he retire to his country home to tend his roses, possibly because he didn’t have a country home, or any roses. However, he did heed the Foreign Secretary’s words, and decided to make use of his unrivalled encyclopaedic memory.

Deep in the recesses of his remarkable mind, Percy recalled an ancient British law which had been passed by an Act of Parliament in 1762, during the reign of King George III. It took Percy some considerable time to double-check, in fact, triple-check, that the Act had not been repealed at any time in the past two hundred years. He was delighted to discover that, far from being repealed, it had been enshrined in the Treaty of Versailles in 1919, and again in the Charter of the United Nations in 1945. Clearly neither organization had someone of Percy’s calibre tucked away in its basement. Having read the Act several times, Percy decided to visit the Royal Geographical Society on Kensington Gore, where he spent hours poring over charts that detailed the coastal waters surrounding the British Isles.

After completing his research at the RGS, Percy was satisfied that everything was in place for him to comply with clause 7, addendum 3, of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762.

He returned to his home in Pimlico and locked himself away in his study for three weeks — with only Horatio, his three-legged, one-eyed cat, for company — while he put the final touches to a detailed memorandum that would reveal the real significance of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762, and its relevance for Great Britain in the year 2009.

Once he’d completed his task, he placed the nineteen-page handwritten document, along with a copy of the 1762 Act showing one particular clause highlighted, in a large white envelope which he addressed to Sir Nigel Henderson KCMG, Permanent Secretary to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, King Charles Street, Whitehall, London SW1A 2AH. He then put the unsealed envelope in the top drawer of his desk, where it would remain for the next three months while he disappeared off the face of the earth. Horatio purred.

On 22 June 2009, Percy took a taxi to Euston station, where he boarded the overnight sleeper for Inverness. His luggage consisted of an overnight bag and his old school trunk, while inside his jacket pocket was a wallet containing two thousand pounds in cash.

On arrival in Inverness, Percy changed platforms and, an hour later, boarded a train that would take him even further north. The five-carriage shuttle stopped at every station on its long and relentless journey up the north-east coast of Scotland, until it finally came to a halt at the remote harbour town of Wick.

When Percy left the station, he commandeered the only taxi, which took him to the only hotel, where he booked into the only available room. After a one-course meal — the menu being fairly limited, and the kitchen staff having all left at nine o’clock — Percy retired to his room and read Robinson Crusoe before falling asleep.

The following morning he rose before the sun, as do most of the natives of the outer reaches of Scotland. He feasted on a large bowl of porridge oats and a pair of kippers that would have graced the Savoy, but rejected an offer of the Scotsman in favour of studying a long list of the items that would have to be acquired before the sun had set that afternoon.

Percy spent the first hour after breakfast walking up and down the high street, trying to identify the shops he would have to patronize if his trunk was to be filled by the time he left the following morning.

The first establishment he entered was MacPherson’s Camping Store. ‘Everything a hiker needs when trekking in the Highlands’ was stencilled boldly on the window. After much bending over, lying down and crawling in and out, Percy purchased an easy-to-erect, all-weather tent that the proprietor assured him would still be standing after a desert storm or a mountain gale.

By the time Percy had left the store he had filled four large brown carrier bags with his tent, a primus stove, a kettle, a goose-down sleeping bag with an inflatable pillow, a Swiss army knife (he had checked that it had a tin opener), a pair of Wellington boots, a fishing rod, a camera, a compass and a portable telescope.

Mr MacPherson directed Percy towards the MacPherson General Store on the other side of the road, assuring him that his brother Sandy would be happy to fulfil any other requirements he might still have.

The second Mr MacPherson supplied Percy with a shovel, a plastic mug, plate, knife, fork and spoon, a dozen boxes of matches (Swan Vesta), a Roberts radio, three dozen Eveready batteries, four dozen candles and a first-aid kit, which filled three more carrier bags. Once Percy had established that there wasn’t a third MacPherson brother to assist him, he settled for Menzies, where he was able to place several more ticks against items on his long list — a copy of the Radio Times, the Complete Works of Shakespeare (paperback), a day-to-day 2009 diary (half price) and an Ordnance Survey map showing the outlying islands in the North Sea.

Percy took a taxi back to his hotel, accompanied by nine carrier bags, which he dragged in relays up to his room on the second floor. After a light lunch of fish pie and peas, he set off once again for the high street.

He spent most of the afternoon pushing a trolley up and down the aisles of the local supermarket, stocking up with enough provisions to ensure he could survive for ninety days. Once he was back in his hotel room, he sat on the end of the bed and checked his list once again. He still required one essential item; in fact, he couldn’t leave Wick without it.

Although Percy had failed to find what he wanted in any of the shops in town, he had spotted a perfect second-hand example on the roof of the hotel. He approached the proprietor, who was surprised by the guest’s request but, noticing his desperation, drove a hard bargain, insisting on seventy pounds for the family heirloom.

‘But it’s old, battered and torn,’ said Percy.

‘If it’s nae guid enough fur ye, sur,’ said the owner loftily, ‘ah feel sure y’ll bi able tae find a superior wan in Inverness.’ Percy gave in, having discovered the true meaning of the word canny, and handed over seven ten-pound notes. The proprietor promised that he would have it taken down from the roof before Percy left the following morning.

After such an exhausting day, Percy felt he had earned a rest, but he still had one more task to fulfil before he could retire to bed.

At supper in the three-table dining room, the head waiter (the only waiter) told Percy the name of the man who could solve his final problem, and exactly where he would be located at that time of night. After cleaning his teeth (he always cleaned his teeth after a meal), Percy made his way down to the harbour in search of the Fisherman’s Arms. He tapped his jacket pocket to check he hadn’t forgotten his wallet and the all-important map.

When Percy entered the pub he received some curious stares from the locals, who didn’t approve of stray Englishmen invading their territory. He spotted the man he was looking for seated in a far corner, playing dominoes with three younger men, and made his way slowly across the room, every eye following him, until he came to a halt in front of a squat, bearded man dressed in a thick blue sweater and salt-encrusted jeans.

The man looked up and gave the stranger who had dared to interrupt his game an unwelcoming gaze.

‘Are you Captain Campbell?’ Percy enquired.

‘Who wants tae ken?’ asked the bearded man suspiciously.

‘My name is Forsdyke,’ said Percy, and then, to the astonishment of everyone in the pub, delivered a short, well-rehearsed speech at the top of his voice.

When Percy came to the end, the bearded man placed his double four reluctantly back on the table and, in a brogue that Percy could just about decipher, asked, ‘An wur exactly dae ye expect mi tae tak’ ye?’

Percy opened his map and spread it out on the table, propelling dominoes in every direction. He then placed a finger in the middle of the North Sea. Four pairs of eyes looked down in disbelief. The captain shook his head, repeating the words ‘Nae possible’ several times, until Percy mentioned the figure of five hundred pounds. All four of the men seated around the table suddenly took a far greater interest in the Englishman’s preposterous proposal. Captain Campbell then began a conversation with his colleagues that no one south of Inverness would have been able to follow without a translator. He finally looked up and said, ‘Ah want a hundred pound up front, noo, an’ the ether four hundred afore ah let ye oan ma boat.’

Percy extracted five twenty-pound notes from his wallet and handed them across to the captain, who smiled for the first time since they’d met. ‘Bi stannin’ on the dockside ae Bonnie Belle at five tamorra moarnin’,’ said Campbell as he distributed the cash among his mates. ‘Once I have the ether four hundred, I’ll tak’ ye to your island.’

Percy was standing on the quayside long before five the following morning, an overnight bag, his battered old school trunk and a ten-foot pole at his feet. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, white shirt, his old school tie, and was carrying a rolled umbrella. Standard FCO kit when one is posted to some foreign field. He braced himself against the biting wind as he waited for the captain to appear. He felt both exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

He turned his attention to the little fishing vessel he’d chartered for this expedition, and wondered if it had ever ventured outside territorial waters, let alone into the middle of the North Sea. For a moment he considered returning to his hotel and abandoning the whole exercise, but the vision of his father and grandfather standing on the dock beside him strengthened his resolve.

The captain and his three mates appeared out of the early morning mist at one minute to five. All four of them were dressed in exactly the same clothes they had been wearing the night before, making Percy wonder if they’d come straight from the Fisherman’s Arms. Was it a seafarer’s gait they displayed as they strolled towards him, or had they spent his hundred pounds on what the Scots are most celebrated for?

The captain gave Percy a mock salute, and thrust out his hand. Percy was about to shake it, when he realized that it was being held palm upwards. He handed over four hundred pounds, and Captain Campbell ordered his crew to carry Percy’s luggage on board. Two of the young men were clearly surprised by how heavy the trunk was. Percy followed them up the gangway, clinging on to the pole which never left his side, even when he joined the captain on the bridge.

The captain studied several oceanographic charts before confirming the exact location at which Percy had asked to be abandoned and then gave the order to cast off. ‘Ah think it’ll tak’ us at least a day an’ a night afore wi reach oor destination,’ said the captain, ‘so perhaps, laddie, it might bi wise fur ye tae lay doon. The waves cin bi a wee bit choppy wance wi leave the shelter ae the harbour.’

They had only just passed Wick lighthouse when Percy began to appreciate the true meaning of Captain Campbell’s words, and to regret having had a second helping of porridge that morning. He spent most of the day leaning over the railing, depositing what he’d eaten the previous day into the waves. It wasn’t much different during the night, except that it was dark and the crew couldn’t see him. He declined the captain’s offer to join them for a supper of fish stew.

After thirty hours of Percy wishing the ship would sink, or someone would throw him overboard, the first mate pointed through the mist and hollered, ‘Land ahoy!’ But it was some time before the blurred dot on the horizon finally turned into a piece of land that might just have been described by an assiduous cartographer as an island.

Percy wanted to cheer, but his voice became muffled as the little vessel continued to circle the island in a valiant attempt to find a landing place. All they could see ahead of them were treacherous rocks and unassailable cliffs that didn’t require a ‘no entry’ sign to warn them off. Percy sank down on to the deck, feeling that the whole exercise simply mirrored his career and would end in failure. He bowed his head in despair, so didn’t see the captain pointing to a cove that boasted a small beach.

The crew were experienced at landing far more slippery objects than Percy, and an hour later they left him on the beach along with all his worldly goods. His parting words to the skipper as he climbed back into his small dinghy were, ‘If you return in ninety-one days and take me back to the mainland, I’ll pay you a further thousand pounds.’

He had anticipated the captain’s response, and without waiting to be asked handed over two hundred pounds in cash; but not before he had confirmed the exact date on which the Bonnie Belle was to return.

‘If you turn up even one hour before the ninety-first day,’ he said without explanation, ‘you will not be paid another penny.’

Captain Campbell shrugged his shoulders, as he was past trying to understand the eccentric Englishman, but he did manage another salute once he’d pocketed the cash. The crew then rowed him back to his little fishing vessel so they could go about their normal business on the high seas, though not until they were back within the 150-mile legal limit.

Percy placed his feet wide apart and tried to steady himself, but after thirty hours on the Bonnie Belle it felt as if the whole island was swaying from side to side. He didn’t move until his former companions were out of sight.

He then dragged his belongings up the beach on to higher ground before he went in search of a suitable piece of land on which to pitch his tent. The relentless wind and squalls of rain did not assist his progress.

The flattest piece of land Percy came across during his initial recce turned out to be the highest point on the island, while the most sheltered spot was a large cave nestled in a cliff on the west side. It took him the rest of the day to move all his belongings from the beach to his new home.

After devouring a can of baked beans and a carton of long-life milk, he climbed into his sleeping bag and spent his first night on Forsdyke Island. He missed Horatio.

Most people would find trying to survive for three months on a small, uninhabited island in the North Sea somewhat daunting, but having spent thirty years in the basement of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Percy Forsdyke was equal to the task. Moreover, he knew that his father and grandfather would regard it as nothing more than character building.

Percy spent his first full day on the island unpacking his trunk and making his new home as comfortable as possible. He stacked all the food at the coldest end of the cave and placed his equipment neatly along the sides.

For some weeks Percy had been planning the routine he’d follow on the island. He would begin the day with a bowl of cornflakes, a boiled egg (until he could bear them no more) and a mug of tea while listening to the Today Programme on Radio Four. This would be followed by a session of digging on the highest point of the island, weather permitting. Lunch, usually spam and baked beans, would be followed by a siesta. Not that Percy was avoiding the heat of the sun, you understand; he was just tired. When he woke, Percy would spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the island until he was familiar with every nook and cranny of his kingdom. Once the sun had set, which was very late at that time of year, he would prepare his dinner: more spam and baked beans. It didn’t take long for Percy to regret his lack of culinary imagination.

After listening to the ten o’clock news and reading some Shakespeare by candlelight, he would climb into his sleeping bag and carry out the last ritual of the day, bringing his diary up to date. He would detail everything he’d done that day, as it would be part of the evidence he would eventually present to the Foreign Office.

Percy had selected his ninety days of isolation carefully. He was able to follow the ball-by-ball commentary of all five Test matches against Australia, as well as the seven One Day Internationals. He also enjoyed thirteen plays of the week, and sixty-four episodes of The Archers, but he stopped listening to Gardeners’ Question Time when he realized it didn’t provide many useful tips for someone living on a small island in the North Sea.

If Percy had one regret, it was that he hadn’t been able to bring his ginger cat with him. Not that Horatio would have appreciated exchanging his warm kitchen for a cold cave. He had left clear instructions with his housekeeper that she should feed him every morning, and before she left at night.

Percy had more than enough food and drink to survive for ninety days, and was determined to revisit the Complete Works of Shakespeare, all 37 plays and 154 sonnets, by the time he returned to the mainland.

By the end of the first month, Percy felt he was well qualified to appear on Desert Island Discs, even though that nice Mr Plomley was no longer in charge.

On a more practical level, Percy learned to catch a fish with a sharpened stick. To be accurate, he speared his first fish on the thirty-ninth day, by which time he considered himself a fully domiciled resident.

On the sixty-third day, he completed digging a five-foot hole at the highest point of the island. One of the problems Percy hadn’t anticipated was that whenever he visited his hole each morning, it would be full of water, as hardly a day went by when it didn’t rain. It took Percy about an hour to scoop out yesterday’s water with his plastic mug before he could start digging again, sometimes longer, if it was still raining. He then roamed the island searching for large stones which he lugged back and deposited by the side of the hole.

On the morning of the eighty-ninth day, Percy dragged his pole slowly up to the summit of the island, some 227 feet above sea level, and dumped it unceremoniously by the hole. He then returned to the cave and listened to Woman’s Hour on Radio Four before having lunch. He’d learned a great deal about women during the past three months. He spent the afternoon shining his shoes, washing his shirt and rehearsing the speech he would deliver on behalf of Her Majesty.

He retired to bed early, aware that he needed to be at his best for the ceremony he would be performing the following day.

Percy rose with the sun on 23 September 2009, and ate a light breakfast consisting of a bowl of cornflakes and an apple while he listened to Jim Naughtie discuss with Mr Cameron whether the three party leaders should take part in a television debate before the election. Percy didn’t care for the idea: not at all British.

At nine o’clock he shaved, cutting himself in several places, then put on a white shirt, now not quite so white, his three-piece suit, old school tie and shining black shoes, none of which he’d worn for the past three months.

When Percy emerged from the cave carrying his radio, he had a pleasant surprise awaiting him on this, the most important day of his life. The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, and what a blue. When he reached the top of his hill, there was not a drop of water in the hole. God clearly was an Englishman.

He checked his watch: ten twenty-six. Too early to begin proceedings if he intended to keep to the letter of the law. He sat on the ground and recited his favourite speeches from Henry V, while checking his watch every few minutes.

At eleven o’clock, Percy lifted the flagpole on to his shoulder and lowered one end into the hole. He then spent forty minutes selecting the stones that would secure it firmly in place. Having completed the task he sat down on the ground, exhausted. Once he’d got his breath back he turned on the radio and still had to wait for some time before Big Ben struck twelve times and the sun reached its highest point. At one minute past twelve, Percy stood to attention, slowly raised the Union Jack up the flagpole and delivered the exact words required by the Territories Settlement Act of 1762: ‘I claim this sovereign territory in the name of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, to whom I swear my allegiance.’ He then sang the ‘National Anthem’, and ended with three rousing cheers.

The ceremony completed, Percy fell to his knees and thanked God, and all his ancestors, that like them he had been able to serve the British Empire.

He then picked up his telescope and began to search the high seas for a bobbing fishing vessel. As each hour passed, he became more and more anxious as to where the Bonnie Belle, Captain Campbell and his three shipmates might be. He feared they were in the Fisherman’s Arms, spending his money.

Once the sun had set on this part of the British Empire, Percy restricted himself to half-rations before spending a sleepless night wondering if he was destined to spend the rest of his days on Forsdyke Island, having fulfilled his mission, but without anyone realizing what he had achieved.

He rose early the following morning, skipped breakfast, missed the Today Programme and climbed back up to the highest point on the island, where he was delighted to see the Union Jack still fluttering in the breeze.

He picked up his telescope, swung it slowly through 180 degrees, and there she was, ploughing determinedly, if slowly, through the waves. Not usually a demonstrative man, Percy leapt up and down, shouting with joy. He ran back to his cave, packed his overnight bag with all the evidence he needed to support his claim, then made his way down to the beach. He left everything else in the cave, including his trunk, in case anyone should require more proof that he really had been a resident for ninety days.

Percy waited patiently on the beach, but it was another three hours before the little dinghy came ashore to collect the unappointed ambassador who wished to be transported back to the mainland, having served his tour of duty.

Captain Campbell showed no interest in why Mr Forsdyke had wished to spend ninety-one days on a deserted island, and left him in his cabin to rest. Although Percy was just as sick on the voyage back to Wick as he had been on the way to Forsdyke Island, his heart was full of joy.

Once the captain, the three crew members and their passenger had disembarked from the Bonnie Belle they all went to the nearest bank, where Percy withdrew eight hundred pounds. But he didn’t hand over the cash until Captain Campbell and his first mate had signed a one-page document confirming that they had taken him to Forsdyke Island on 25 June 2009, and hadn’t picked him up again until 24 September 2009, when they had accompanied him back to the mainland. The local bank manager witnessed both signatures.

A taxi took Percy to Wick station, from where he began the slow journey back along the coast to Inverness before boarding the overnight train to London. He found his first-class bunk bed uncomfortable, while the clattering wheels kept him awake most of the night, and the fish served for breakfast had unquestionably left the North Sea some days before he had. He arrived at Euston more tired and hungry than he’d been for the past three months, and then had to hang about in a long taxi queue before he was driven back to his home in Pimlico.

Once he’d let himself in he went straight to his study, unlocked the centre drawer of his desk and retrieved the unsealed envelope containing his detailed memorandum and the copy of the 1762 Territories Settlement Act. He placed Captain Campbell’s sworn affidavit in the envelope along with two maps and a diary, then sealed the envelope and wrote on the front, in capital letters, FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

Despite his impatience to fulfil his dream, Percy didn’t leave the house until he’d checked that his one-eyed, three-legged cat was sound asleep on the kitchen boiler. ‘I did it, Horatio, I did it,’ whispered Percy as he left the kitchen. Once he’d locked the front door, he hailed a passing taxi.

‘The Foreign Office,’ said Percy as he climbed into the back seat.

When the taxi drew up outside the King Charles Street entrance, Percy said, ‘Please wait, cabbie, I’ll only be a minute.’

The security guard at the FCO was about to prevent the dishevelled tramp from entering the building when he realized it was Mr Forsdyke.

‘Please deliver this to Sir Nigel Henderson immediately,’ said Percy, handing over the bulky envelope.

‘Yes, Mr Forsdyke,’ said the duty clerk, giving him a salute.

Percy sat in the cab on the way back home chanting the ‘Nunc Dimittis’.

The first thing Percy did on returning to Pimlico was to feed the cat. He then fed himself and watched the early evening news on television. It was too early for any announcement about his triumph, although he did wonder if it would be the Foreign Secretary or perhaps even the Prime Minister who would be standing at the dispatch box in the House of Commons to deliver an unscheduled announcement. He climbed into bed at ten, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Percy wasn’t surprised to receive a call from Sir Nigel the following afternoon, but he was surprised by the Permanent Secretary’s request. ‘Good afternoon, Percy,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘The Foreign Secretary wonders if you could spare the time to drop in and have a chat with him at your earliest convenience.’

‘Of course,’ said Percy.

‘Good,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘Would eleven tomorrow morning suit you?’

‘Of course,’ repeated Percy.

‘Excellent. I’ll send a car. And Percy, can I just check that no one else has seen any of the documents you sent me?’

‘That is correct, Sir Nigel. You’ll note that everything is handwritten, so you are in possession of the only copies.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Sir Nigel without explanation, and the phone went dead.

A staff car picked up Percy at ten-thirty the following morning, and drove him to the Foreign Office in Whitehall. He was dressed in his only other Savile Row suit, a fresh white shirt and a new, old school tie, in anticipation of his triumph.

Percy always enjoyed entering the FCO, but even he was flattered to find a clerk waiting to escort him to the Foreign Secretary’s office. He savoured every moment as they walked slowly up the broad marble staircase, past the full-length portraits of Castlereagh, Canning, Palmerston, Salisbury and Curzon, before continuing down a long, wide corridor where photographs of Stewart, Douglas-Home, Callaghan, Carrington, Hurd and Cook adorned the walls.

When they reached the Foreign Secretary’s office, the clerk tapped lightly on the door before opening it. Percy was ushered into a room large enough to hold a ball, to find the Foreign Secretary and the head of the Foreign Service awaiting him at the far end.

‘Welcome back, Percy,’ said the Foreign Secretary as if he were greeting an old chum, although he had only met him once before, at his retirement party. ‘Come and join myself and Sir Nigel by the fire. There are one or two things I think we need to have a chat about. Didn’t we do well to win the Ashes?’ he added as he sat down. ‘Although I suppose you missed the entire series, remembering that—’

‘I was able to follow the ball-by-ball commentary on Radio Four,’ Percy assured the Foreign Secretary, ‘and it was indeed a magnificent series.’ Percy relaxed back in his chair, and was served with a coffee.

‘That must have helped kill the time,’ said Sir Nigel, who waited until the coffee lady had left the room before he addressed the subject that was on all their minds.

‘I read your report yesterday morning, Percy. Quite brilliant,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘And I must congratulate you on identifying an anomaly in the 1762 Act that we’d all previously overlooked.’

‘For well over two hundred years,’ chipped in the Foreign Secretary. ‘After Sir Nigel had read your memorandum, he phoned me at home and briefed me. I went straight to Number Ten and had a private meeting with the PM, at which I was able to tell him what you’ve been up to since leaving the FCO. He was most impressed. Most impressed,’ repeated the Foreign Secretary. Percy beamed with delight. ‘He asked me to send you his congratulations, and best wishes.’

‘Thank you,’ said Percy, and only just stopped himself from saying, ‘And please return mine.’

‘The PM also asked me to let him know,’ continued the Foreign Secretary, ‘what decision you’d come to.’

‘What decision I’d come to?’ repeated Percy, no longer sounding quite so relaxed.

‘Yes,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘You see, a problem has arisen that we felt we ought to share with you.’

Percy was prepared to answer any queries relating to treaty rights, sovereign status or the relevance of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762.

‘Percy,’ continued Sir Nigel, giving his former colleague a warm smile, ‘you’ll be pleased to know that the Lord Chancellor has confirmed that your claim on behalf of the Sovereign is valid, and would stand up in any international court.’ Percy began to relax again. ‘And indeed, should you press your suit, Forsdyke Island would become part of Her Majesty’s Overseas Territories. You were quite correct in your assessment that if you occupied the island for ninety days, without any other person or government making a claim on it, it would become the sole possession of the occupier, and would be governed by the laws of whichever country the occupier is a citizen of, as long as that claim is ratified within six months — if I remember the words of the 1762 Act correctly?’

Almost word perfect, thought Percy. ‘Which means,’ he said, turning to the Foreign Secretary, ‘that we can lay claim not only to the fishing rights, but also to the oil reserves within a radius of one hundred and fifty miles, not to mention the obvious strategic advantage its location gives to our defence forces.’

‘And thereby hangs a tale,’ said the Permanent Secretary.

Percy wondered which of four possible Shakespeare plays Sir Nigel was quoting from, but decided this wasn’t the time to enquire. ‘I am also confident,’ continued Percy, ‘that should you present our case to a plenary session of the United Nations, it would have no choice but to ratify my claim on behalf of the British Government.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, Percy,’ said Sir Nigel, ‘but it is the responsibility of the Foreign Office to look at the wider picture and consider all the implications.’ As if on cue, both men rose from their places. Percy followed them to the centre of the room, where they halted before a vast globe.

Sir Nigel gave the globe a spin. When it stopped, he pointed to a tiny speck in the Pacific Ocean. ‘If the Russians were to lay claim to that island, it could turn out to be a bigger problem for the Americans than Cuba.’

He spun the globe again and when it stopped he pointed to another apparently unnamed island, this time in the middle of the South China Sea. ‘If either country laid claim to this, you could end up with a war between Japan and China.’

He spun the globe a third time and, when it stopped, he placed a finger on the Dead Sea. ‘Let us pray that the Israelis never get to hear about the Territories Settlement Act of 1762, because that would be the end of any Middle East peace process.’

Percy was speechless. All he had wanted was to prove himself worthy of his father and grandfather, and emulate the contribution they had made to the Foreign Office but, once again, all he’d achieved was to bring embarrassment to the family name and to the country he loved more than life itself.

The Foreign Secretary placed his arm round Percy’s shoulder. ‘If you felt able to allow us to file your submission in the archives, and to leave this meeting unrecorded, I know that the PM, and I suspect Her Majesty, would be eternally grateful.’

‘Of course, Foreign Secretary,’ said Percy, his head bowed.

He slipped out of the Foreign Office a few minutes later, and never mentioned the subject of Forsdyke Island again to anyone other than Horatio. But should anyone ever find themselves lost in the North Sea and come across a fluttering Union Jack...

On 1 January 2010, among the knighthoods listed in the New Year’s Honours, was that of Sir Percival Arthur Clarence Forsdyke, awarded the KCMG for further services to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.