As I entered Theresa May’s London study, what I saw shocked me. May was in a terrible way, one moment almost catatonic, the next in a state of extreme agitation. “These are dark, dark, times, Grayling,” she said gravely. “The whole of Europe stands on the brink. Unless Prof Johnson can be stopped there will be a chaos the like of which has never before been imagined. Come, Grayling, there is no time to lose. The game is afoot.”
We hastily packed our bags and took a train to Brussels. There we narrowly avoided an attempt on our lives by Robert Oxley, one of the professor’s more dangerous agents, before moving on to Strasbourg. As we zigzagged across the capitals of Europe, still Johnson contrived to keep one step ahead of us.
After more than a month, we eventually arrived in the Swiss town of Meiringen and it was only then that May appeared to relax. “We have him now, Grayling,” she said, her mouth stretching into a thin smile. “Johnson is trapped in our backstop. Let us go for a walk up to the Reichenbach Falls.”
It was a pleasant late afternoon and although the pale watery sun provided little warmth, I had no need of a cagoule such was the pace at which May walked. I must admit that I was somewhat relieved when we were accosted by a rather rude, dishevelled man in a grey tracksuit with a bulldog clip attached to his collar, insisting we come to the assistance of a woman further down the mountain who had lost her laptop and was in need of a £100,000 grant.
“You go, Grayling,” May demanded of me. “I will proceed to the top of the falls.”
For a long while that was the last I saw of May. I know now that she had identified the crumpled man as Cummings, the professor’s right-hand, self-styled genius, and had allowed me to fall for his trap of separating us so that she could confront Johnson alone. Their bodies were never found. I could only assume she sacrificed her own life in pushing Johnson to his death over the no-deal cliff edge.
A great peace settled over Europe – a transition period marked with joy and celebrations. And yet I was consumed with grief for the loss of the bravest, most noble woman I had ever known. But one day there was a knock on my door.
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “Is that you, May?”
“Indeed it is, Grayling,” she replied. “So clamorous were the demands of UK citizens that I have made an unlikely reappearance. Although everyone feared me dead, I actually hung on to a branch as Johnson toppled on to the rocks many hundreds of feet below.”
“By heavens, that’s wonderful. So where have you been since?”
“Waiting for a Seaborne Freight ferry.”
