Wonder. It's June 1970 at publisher Sir Alan Lane's home on the outskirts of London, England.

64-year-old Richard Lane quietly opens a door and slips into the bedroom.

His heart sinks when he sees his brother Alan lying in bed with his eyes closed. It's the first time Richard has seen

Alan in years and he barely recognizes the gaunt pale man before him. Alan has

terminal cancer and the doctors think the end is close.

Richard has traveled from his home in Australia to see his brother before it's too late.

Richard pulls a chair closer to the side of the bed and sits down.

Alan's eyes flutter open.

Oh, you needn't have come.

Nonsense.

I was overdue a visit home anyway.

The two Englishmen sit awkwardly in silence for a moment.

They aren't accustomed to sharing their feelings even at the best of times,

and Richard quickly changes the subject.

I got your letter, by the way, about this history of Penguin book you want to do.

I'd be happy to help. I think it's an excellent idea.

We've got quite the story to tell, don't we us Lane brothers?

Starting in that moly old crypt of a church, though I suppose the later chapters won't feature me as much.

Penguin went public nine years ago, but when it did, Alan maneuvered Richard out of the company

to ensure he stayed the majority shareholder.

The brothers have spoken little since.

Alan frowns stirring himself.

...