Madrigal for Charlie Muffin

Epilogue

‘… Charles Edward Muffin, the charges against you are that being a servant of Her Majesty’s government and a signatory to the Official Secrets Act, you did on divers dates…’

Charlie stood with his hands lightly against the dock rail, only half concentrating upon the drone. He moved his toes in the luxury of expanded suede: they’d allowed him his own clothes for the hearing and for the first time in a week his feet were free from those bloody prison-issue boots.

‘… apply once more for a formal remand for seven days,’ a man in a white wig and black gown was saying, ‘… at such time the Crown would hope to be in a position to propose a date for the full proceedings to begin…’

It was an in-camera hearing, the number of people in court limited. Sir Alistair Wilson was directly behind the prosecuting counsel. There hadn’t been any contact in prison, since the return from Italy, and Charlie expected some indication now, but the intelligence director didn’t turn towards the dock. When the hell were they going to let him know? He’d survived, thought Charlie. But for what?