Wednesday April 30, 2008
“Shall I sit in my kitchen corner twiddling my thumbs when he comes, or shall I be working up in my study?”
“Working would be better.”
“Yup. I think you’re right.”
I’d hardly set hands to keyboard when the phone rang. I let Graham pick up, mostly because that strange instinct thing of mine had already informed me of the nature and source of the call.
“Well, it was nice of him to let us know. Don’t worry about it, there’ll be more where he came from. Yes, thanks. Bye,” came Graham’s voice up the stair.
“I expect you know what that was,” he said, coming into the office.
I scanned his face and body language quickly, to avoid blunders. “I seemed to know just as the phone rang. Did the guy give a reason?”
“It seems some previous vendor has made him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“Ah, well. What would you say to a nice cup of tea?”
“Hello, nice cup of tea.”
“Right. On me way.”
A little while later, sitting at the kitchen table, Graham said, out of the blue, like: “I’m glad you’ve stopped wearing t-shirts all the time.”
“Me too. I’d quite forgot how comfortable a nice shirt feels.”
“How are you off for nice shirts these days?”
“Just about enough to scrape through the week between laundry loads.”
“Hmm. I think we’ll pop over to Street tomorrow and buy you a couple of new ones.”