“I am always in touch with my subjects,” Her Majesty said with dignity, “and most especially with you, Sir Kenneth. I shall so remain.”
And then there was a little paperwork to take care of. By the time Malone had finished, he would have been glad to teleport to New York on his own. But on reflection he decided that he would much rather travel with Lou, and hurried down to the airport.
By the time the plane landed at La Guardia, and they’d taken a ’copter to the East Side Terminal and a taxi to the big blue-aluminum-and-glass Ravell Building, Malone had reached a new decision. It would be nothing short of wonderful, he felt, if he could spend the rest of his life traveling around with Luba Garbitsch.
Of course, that name was something of a handicap. It was hardly a romantic one. He wondered, very briefly, whether or not “Luba Malone” were an improvement. But he buried the thought before it got any further. Enough, he told himself firmly, was enough.
“It’s been a nice trip,” Lou said. She, too, sounded subdued, as if she were thinking about something terribly serious.
“Great,” Malone said happily. “A wonderful trip.”
“I enjoyed being with you,” Lou said.
“Me, too,” Malone said. He paid off the taxi-driver and they got out at the corner. Malone went to the newsstand there and picked up a copy of the Post.
“That,” Lou said over his shoulder, “is one whole hell of a headline.”
It filled the entire page, four lines of thick black capitals: