Hutter turned to lead, taking Arthur to the east end.
The box was hidden in the inner corner of the second floor, with no number on the door, only an ebony plaque edged in silver, engraved with two simple letters: A.H.
The attendant waiting by the side saw Arthur coming and respectfully opened the door, ushering them inside.
The box was elegantly decorated, with a warm fire burning in the fireplace. A large window faced the garden of Kensington Palace, in front of which were several wide dark red sofas and two antique copper tea tables. On the tables lay today’s copies of The Tis, the Manchester Guardian, and other newspapers. The wine cabinet housed a few unopened bottles of sherry and champagne.
As soon as he sat down, Arthur took out a letter from his pocket and placed it on the table, lightly tapping the cover with the back of his finger.
"This letter was written three days ago." Arthur said softly, his gaze on the letter rather than Hutter’s face: "Originally, I thought of talking after you settled in London and after Jas’s promotion was finalized. But your performance today made change my mind."
Hutter furrowed his brow in confusion: "What is this?"
Arthur pushed the letter towards Hutter: "Open it and take a look."
Hutter hesitated to take it. The handwriting on the envelope was strong and vigorous, with a few strokes of forced casualness. Before the signature, it purposely added: Your most unorthodox admirer.
And at the signature part, it boldly read: Benjamin Disraeli.
Hutter widened his eyes sharply, seemingly understanding sothing: "Could it be..."
Arthur nodded: "Mr. Disraeli recently obtained an internal selection index for the Foreign Office, which I assu you’ve heard about what this index is for. If you haven’t, I’ll be direct; this is specifically for recomnded people to submit resus and go through a review process, bypassing the ordinary system. The quota is limited, and this selection was not announced beforehand."
Hutter did not imdiately respond, his gaze fixed on the letter.
He never expected that such a golden opportunity would drop right onto his head.
Only now did Hutter slowly realize why Arthur insisted on eting Blackwell today at the coffee shop.
It seed Arthur had been hesitating whether to give this opportunity to him or to Blackwell.
It seems now, Richard Hutter was the person Sir Arthur Hastings found more satisfactory.
"I... I have indeed heard of it." Hutter’s voice was sowhat hoarse, and his mind was still a bit muddled: "The Foreign Office review channel has never been open to people like ."
"People like you?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, smiling, picking up a teacup, "What do you an by people like you? I am such a person, Mr. Disraeli is such a person, the tis have changed, Richard, you must gradually adapt. The old era is gone, the new era is knocking at the door. Maybe effort paying off was an empty phrase before, but in my case, this phrase has always been real."
Hutter let out a bitter laugh, unsure of how to describe his feelings: "I... Certainly, working with you has always been rewarding. But, I never expected to encounter such an event; I thought maybe you would arrange for to go to Scotland Yard, like my brother."
"Scotland Yard? No, no, you are a constitutional soldier of the Third Bureau; going to Scotland Yard would be a waste of talent. You should have heard from your brother, the Intelligence Bureau’s Fifth Section only handles dostic affairs. Whereas the Foreign Office’s Intelligence Liaison Office is responsible for liaising with overseas matters."
Hutter restrained his excitent, carefully stowing away the letter on his lap, as if afraid it would suddenly fly away: "Sir, may I ask you sothing?"
"Please do."
"Why did you choose ? If I’m not mistaken, you surely have other candidates, right? Such an opportunity, if released, I don’t know how many people would fight for it."
Arthur opened a bottle of champagne, the sound of bubbles echoing in the room. As he poured Hutter a drink, he began to speak: "Richard, didn’t I just say? Don’t attribute all good things to . It’s not that I chose you, but that you proved you deserve this position. I am not Christ, do not show rcy, nor do I plan to redeem anyone. I will not choose soone who climbs up simply through connections, nor will I choose soone who blas their failure on their background while unable to endure hardship. I only look at one thing: did you do what you were supposed to do."
"Sir... I, I truly am at a loss to express my gratitude."
Arthur handed the champagne glass to Hutter: "You need not thank . Listen to , don’t utter thanks at a ti like this. Thanks is a heavy word that can make a relationship that could have been smooth beco cumberso. I never like debt of gratitude; I only like those who can sit in front of and still look in the eye without burden."
Hutter opened his mouth, but finally swallowed the "thank you" stuck in his throat, only nodding lightly, raising the champagne glass in his hand: "If I understand correctly... should I have the fortune to enter the Foreign Office, then please advise . Do you think there are any matters a newcor like should pay attention to at work?"
Arthur gave him a look, his lips slowly curved into a aningful smile. He raised his glass and clinked it lightly with Hutter’s: "You see, Richard, this is why we can get along."
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