Gentlemen Formerly Dressed (47 page)

In 1934, William Joyce was made Director of Propaganda for the British Union of Fascists and later appointed Deputy Leader. He spearheaded the B.U.F.'s shift from an economic platform to one based on anti-Semitism. Shortly before war was declared in 1939, Joyce and his wife would flee to Germany. During the war, Joyce was employed as a propaganda broadcaster by German Radio's English Service. His privileged British accent earned him the moniker “Lord Haw Haw”. He and Rowland Sinclair would meet again.

The Blackfriars Men's Hostel run by the Salvation Army benefited from the quiet patronage of the Sinclairs. It continued to provide soup, soap and salvation to thousands of hungry and desperate men. Martha Pratchett rose to the rank of General. Captain Leonard continued to patrol the Thames near Waterloo Bridge for those who found themselves floundering in dark waters.

The Waterloo Bridge was demolished and rebuilt in the early forties. Granite stones from the original structure were presented to various parts of the British world in order to further historic links among the
British Commonwealth of Nations. Two of these stones now make up part of the Commonwealth Avenue Bridge which spans Lake Burley Griffin in Canberra, Australia.

Allen and Overy would grow to become one of the largest law firms in the world. The firm's reputation would be made by the role of its founding partner, George Allen, in advising to King Edward VIII during the abdication crisis of 1936.

Between 1923 and 1939, Rear Admiral Sir Hugh Francis Paget Sinclair KCB, (Quex) held the post of director, or “C”, of the Secret Intelligence Service. In 1938, under the shadow of impending war, Quex would purchase Bletchley Park—which he had first come across in surveillance reports on the activities of his young Australian cousin. The rear admiral would buy the idiosyncratic mansion with private funds to use as a wartime intelligence station. He, too, would meet Rowland Sinclair again.

The Sinclair brothers and their respective entourages embarked for Sydney on the
SS Monterey
in late July. The outstanding charges for public indecency against Mr Elias Isaacs were dropped. Quex Sinclair did in fact see them all off… though they had no idea that he was there.

Rowland Sinclair made a full and complete recovery from the various injuries he'd sustained in the months since he'd left Sydney. As much as he hated it, the scar on his chest caused him no problems as long as he remained dressed. Of course that was not always possible.

Rowland Sinclair and his irrepressible companions have lived in my head for five books. So… one would think that by now I could write a novel on my own. But I can't. There are many people involved in the creation of my books. I'd like to acknowledge and thank them here.

My husband, Michael, who lives with me and the people in my head as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do, who edits manuscripts, discusses characters and helps me understand the thirties. I would never have found Rowland without him.

My boys, Edmund and Atticus, who tolerate the whims and vagaries of a mother who writes, and who still steadfastly believe this series could use a werewolf.

My father who reads every single one of my manuscripts immediately, and who is brave enough to tell me honestly what he thinks; who tempers an accountant's realism with a parent's unfailing belief in my work. My sister Devini who picks up the telephone even when she knows I'm just calling to talk about plots.

Leith Henry, who has been my friend since childhood and with whom I first began to write, who knows me well enough to step into my head and have a chat with Rowland. Jason Henry who sent me a toaster at a desperate time in my gastronomic life, when I really needed a toaster.

Alastair Blanshard, whose namesake does not appear in this book, but whose influence and advice does; who selflessly shared his memories of Oxford, partridges and buckshot, and his hands-on knowledge of bow ties.

Wallace Fernandes who values our friendship enough to pretend he's read my books (whilst I pretend I believe him); who explained to me the superiority of the Full Windsor knot and who makes me laugh when the practicalities of being a writer seem impossible.

Sarah Kynaston, nee Dabinett, who responds to my mad ideas with insane ones of her own, and then makes me put them into practice. Cheryl Bousfield and Lesley Bocquet whose enthusiasm for books is contagious and whose friendship is valued indeed.

All those writers I have the privilege to call my friends, who I won't mention individually because it'll look like I'm name dropping, who have from the first, been generous and warm withtheir advice and their support. Amongst these the Sisters in Crime whose camaraderie and humour is reason enough to be a crime writer.

Rebecca Lochlann, who I came to know when we were both unpublished aspiring writers and whose work continues to enchant and move me.

Nigel E.S. Irvine, who sends me inspiration and ideas from his wanderings through archives and museums.

The Greens, who are Pantera Press, who have done this with me eight times now and who continue to amaze me with their talent, generosity and belief in books.

Luke Causby who has once again ensured my words are properly and perfectly attired, and Desanka Vukelic who ensures they're correctly spelled.

Deonie Fiford, whose skill and insight as an editor gives me comfort and confidence as a writer.

Professor Carl Bridge of the Menzies Centre for Australian Studies in King's College who took the time to answer the queries of a complete stranger purporting to write a book. The public affairs desk of the Australian High Commission in London who directed me to Professor Bridge in the first place.

The booksellers and bloggers who have introduced Rowland to their customers, friends and followers—thank you.

All the readers who have allowed me the privilege of their attention and their time. It is never taken for granted.