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‘Why do you have to be so bloody uncooperative all the time? Do you have any idea how difficult it is writing these books?’ ‘Why? I do all the work.’ ‘Yes. But it’s a full-time job making you look sympathetic.’
‘Ban Nab. It’s a palindrome.’ He said nothing, so I added: ‘It reads the same forwards and backwards.’ ‘Do geese see God?’ Hawthorne asked. ‘I’m sorry?’ Hawthorne shook his head and looked away.
He’d been complimentary enough, but every word he had spoken had carried its own little knife.
It was the one thing Hawthorne hadn’t told me. Actually, so far he hadn’t told me anything.
She was the sort of woman who would always make tea no matter what the crisis. Lose your leg in a hideous industrial accident and she’d be there with a nice cup of Earl Grey.
Her career was fine. It was life that had let her down.
She also said that there was money involved, and maybe I can tell you something you don’t know.’ ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Hawthorne said.
‘I’ll have one of those, if you don’t mind,’ Torode said. ‘Sorry, mate. Last one.’ Hawthorne slid the pack back into his pocket.
If I were you, I’d think of something else.’ ‘But I like it,’ I protested. ‘I don’t.’
