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Niven said to no one in particular, “Please, don’t encourage him.”
There were more chuckles.
Fleming looked at Montagu.
“How is that, Ewen?” he said.
“For the same reason that we selected the rank of major,” Montagu explained. “There is no shortage of them. As I just recounted, we picked the Royal Marines because it is known as an elite service from which one could pull a courier for such a critical mission. Being elite makes it comparatively small, and it would not be unusual for many members to be familiar with others. I can name three Martins off the top of my head that I know personally—”
“You’re right,” Fleming interrupted. “I can think of two myself, though only one is in fact in the Royal Marines. A captain.”
“There you have it,” Montagu said. “I would expect there to be a long list of Martins in the Royal Marines, and certainly ones with the rank of major. Easy enough to confirm.” He looked at Niven. “So there it is: Major Martin. Now, what about a first name, something equally common?”
“Bill,” Niven immediately said.
“William,” Fleming put in, earning him a mock glare from Niven.
“Major William Martin of the Royal Marines,” Montagu said, testing the sound of it. “By Jove, I think we do have it. Unless there are any objections?”
No one objected.
“Major William Martin of the Royal Marines it is, then,” Montagu said.
“Bill, to his friends,” Niven put in and grinned.
Surprising him, Fleming nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “let’s get into that—his friends, his personal life.”
Montagu said, “We know the main documents, the mission-critical ones, will concern the deceit, of course. But, getting to number one”—he motioned toward the Operation Mincemeat sheet—“we need companion papers for the purpose of padding, something that helps explain who Major Martin is.”
“The love letters?” Charity said.
Montagu smiled. “It has been discussed that our man—our Major Martin—should be newly engaged.”
“How charming,” the Duchess said. “Love in bloom!”
“Discussed?” Niven put in. “I thought it had been decided, that we agreed on my idea.”
“Right on both counts,” Fleming said. “Decided and your idea. Now, let’s discuss it. Ladies, any immediate thoughts?”
Charity found herself smiling.
I have a thought or two on the subject, but I’m not about to bare my soul!
“Charity?” Fleming said, looking at her. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Um, nothing immediately.”
“I’ll raise that. A pound for your thoughts,” Niven added, grinning.
She made a radiant smile.
“Sorry, no price can be put on them,” she said playfully.
“If Major Martin is in his early thirties,” the Duchess said, “then we can assume his fiancée is, oh, late twenties?”
“Why not?” Montagu said agreeably.
