Chapter Twenty-SevenVan trudged into Broadcasting House, his satchel over one shoulder. Had God or the British government intervened in his plans to go to Southampton? He’d arrived at Waterloo station, but there was some sort of problem with the tracks, or so the officials said, and the next train wouldn’t head south for another three hours. As a result of the delay, common sense intervened, and he’d gone home to pack a bag with clothes, extra notepads, and pencils. He’d decided not to lug the typewriter. No matter how portable the machine was touted to be, it was too bulky and heavy to drag with him.
He’d telegrammed his editor that the expected article would not be forthcoming, and he’d be in touch. Hopefully, the man would understand after all was said and done. Now it was time to spea
