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  ‘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.

  THE LUCK OF THE IRISH*

  11

  NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE this tale unless they were told that an Irishman was involved.

  Liam Casey was born in Cork, the son of a tinker. One of many things he learned from his shrewd father was that while a wise man can spend all day making a few bob, a foolish one can lose them in a few minutes.

  During Liam’s lifetime, he made over a hundred million ‘few bobs’, but despite his father’s advice, he still managed to lose them all in a few minutes.

  After Liam left school, he didn’t consider going to university, explaining to his friends that he wanted to join the real world. Liam quickly discovered that you also had to graduate from the University of Life before you could place your foot on the first rung of the ladder to fortune. After a few false starts, as a petrol pump attendant, bus conductor and door-to-door Encyclopaedia Britannica salesman, Liam ended up as a trainee with Hamptons, an established English estate agent that had branches all over Ireland.

  He spent the next three years learning about the value of property, commercial and residential, the setting and collecting of rents, and how to close a deal on terms that ensured you made a profit but didn’t lose a customer. The average person will move house five times during their lifetime, the English manager informed Liam, so you need to retain their confidence.

  ‘I wish I’d been James Joyce’s estate agent,’ was all Liam had to say on the subject.

  ‘Why?’ asked the Englishman, sounding puzzled.

  ‘He moved house over a hundred times during his lifetime.’ It was about the only thing Liam could remember about James Joyce.

  Working for an English company, Liam quickly discovered that if you have a gentle Irish brogue and are graced with enough charm, the invaders have a tendency to underestimate you – a mistake the English have made for over a thousand years.

  Another important lesson he learned, and one they certainly don’t teach you at any university, was that the only difference between a tinker and a merchant banker is the sum of money that changes hands. However, Liam couldn’t work out how to take advantage of this knowledge until he met Maggie McBride.

  Maggie didn’t consider the tinker’s son from Cork to be much of a catch, even if he was good-looking and fun to be with, but when he invited her to join him for a holiday in Majorca, she began to show a little more interest.

  Liam’s current account at the Allied Irish Bank was just enough in credit for him to be able to afford a package holiday to Magaluf, a resort on the south-west coast of the island, which for three months of every ye