The voice that came from this massive man was surprisingly high pitched. It reminded me of Mike Tyson speaking to reporters."Get this cunt out of here...before she gets herself killed." Then he evaporated back into the shadows.The woman was now trying to extricate herself from my arms. She was warm and soft and smelled like an Irish spring commercial. She had on a simple white sundress and it was clear that she had no bra on because I could feel her bare breasts moving over my arms as she. At the head was Ruth Ive, Churchill's private secretary."Ladies, would there be room at your table for a lost GI?" The women looked at him and smiled "en mass". There was a flurry of movement and a space was made in between two rather predatory looking typists. "Girls" lectured Ruth, "meet Colonel David Ogilvy. For a Yank he looks pretty good — but watch yourself, remember the rules — no fraternising with the enemy — oops I mean men" she giggled. There was a titter of laughter around the table.. More

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