A young waiter came into the room, carrying a torch and with a tin hat in his hand.
He said: The shelter is in the basement, through the buttery door, sir.'
Howard said: 'Do we have to go there?'
'Not unless you wish to.'
I said: 'Are you going down there, Andrews?'
'No, sir. I'm on duty, in case of incendiary bombs, and that.'
'Well,' I said, 'get on and do whatever you've got to do. Then, when you've got a minute to spare, bring me a glass of Marsala. But go and do your job first.'
Howard said: 'I think that's a very good idea. You can bring me a glass of Marsala, too - between the incendiary bombs. You'll find me sitting here.'
'Very good, sir.'
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