Richard almost choked on his food. Neither of us rushed to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. Recovering, he swallowed hard and said, ‘I’m a footie man myself. Local league. Every Sunday morning, never mind the weather.’
Michael smiled. Remember that poem? ‘The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold’? ‘I’ve never been much into mud myself,’ he said.
‘Had a good evening?’ I chipped in before things got out of hand.
Richard nodded. ‘Been down the Academy listening to East European grunge bands. Some good sounds.’ He gave me one of his perfect smiles. ‘How’s your workload progressing?’
I shrugged. ‘Slowly,’ I said. ‘Michael’s been giving me some background on the art front, and I’ve got Alexis to chuck a few bricks into the pond. It’s a question of waiting to see what floats to the surface.’
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера: