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Cowley was surprised to hear a soft tap on his apartment door at such an hour. It was barely twenty minutes after he had arrived home, having been chivvied out of CI5's current HQ by Bodie and Doyle, faces gleeful. Evidently they had decided to make the best of pulling the Christmas Eve duty, and at eight pm, they had swept through the building, chasing all non-essential personnel out, with loud and scurrilous comments on their ability to do their jobs. As Cowley had settled his hat onto his head, he had seen Bodie dump a fileful of paperwork onto the desk in front of a disgusted Doyle, rub his hands together, and lean back against a filing cabinet, arms folded and lips quirking upwards, apparently willing to stand watch over Doyle indefinitely.
So what was Bodie doing here? At his flat? So soon after he had left? Surely they could not need him back already.
"Evening, sir." Bodie hadn't turned the lights in the passageway from the street on. He stood erect, a shadow in the darkness.
"Bodie? What is it, man? Do you need something from me?" He opened the door wider. "I suppose you'd better come in while I..."
"Not stopping, sir. Just came round to give you this."
Bodie slipped a hand into his inside breast pocket and extracted a neat white envelope. He proffered it to Cowley in silence.
Cowley inspected Bodie before accepting it. "What's this? Ach, if this is one of you and Doyle's jokes..."
Bodie's head remained high, his stance immobile.
"No, sir. Doyle wouldn't understand about this." He paused. "Doyle was never a soldier, sir."
Bodie seemed to feel he had said all that was necessary. Cowley regarded him thoughtfully.
"No. No, he wasn't at that."
He looked down at the envelope.
"And should I be opening this now?"
A small smile spread over Bodie's face.
"No, sir, no need for that." He paused again. "It'll keep."
"I see."
There was a short pause.
"Thank you, Bodie. Thank you. And... Aye. Merry Christmas."
"And to you, sir."
Bodie stepped back, withdrawing further into shadow.
"Better go and stop Doyle from wrecking those reports now, sir. Not fit to be left on their own at times, some people aren't."
His tone was rueful: some people would never be fit to be left on their own, it said.
"Aye. Do that."
Bodie retreated silently, cold edging round the main door as he stepped out onto the street. Back onto the street. Back to CI5.
Cowley returned silently, shutting the door on the cold, his heart less chilly. He moved over to the desk and slit the envelope neatly open. A Christmas card slipped into his hands, a card with a nativity scene and a star above. He opened it and read the inscription, 'Respectfully yours, WAPB', and nodded. In what imponderables Bodie believed, if any, Cowley had no idea. But not for Bodie the ribaldry and indiscipline of the offerings found in the CI5 rest room at this season. No. Instead, a traditional card. A restrained card. But a card bridging the gap between generations, ranks, and men.